No Promises
by Lynx Ryder
Summary: When Magneto left Mystique broken and alone, she thought he had taken more than she could bear to lose. As Mystique attempts to reconcile the life she lost with the life she's got, it seems even her own body is working against her.
1. Naked and Alone

A/N: My first X-men story, little bit nervous! My knowledge of the X-men universe is based solely upon the contents of the three films. I thought X3 was amazing, and though my favourite character is still Wolverine, I was struck by the Mystique storyline most powerfully so here it is, my creation...(oh yeah, I don't own anything, just my imagination).

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**Chapter One -** Naked and Alone

She lay on the cold metal floor of the prison van shivering, pale skin turning blue. A long hour had passed since the 'cure'. A long hour since she had lost everything. A long hour since Eric Lensherr, Magento, had heartlessly abandoned her to her human fate. And she was still lying where he had left her, naked and alone. This was where sacrifice had left her. This was where love had left her.

Tears would not fall. Anger would not come. There was only shock; cold, icy shock. She no longer had a name, she no longer had a life, she no longer had a heart. She had been violated in the worst way possible. Her world was shattered. The end had come.

The rain began, slowly at first but getting heavier. She heard it drumming on the metal above her and felt the thunder rumbling through her chest. Her grief had created this storm, she knew it. Her heart break had conjured the great grey clouds that collided overhead. Each raindrop was a tear that refused to fall, each bolt of jagged lightening a scream she could not release. She would die here listening to the sound of heaven falling. She would die here as a human. Where was her strength now? Where was her pride? Where was her inbuilt drive to keep breathing? Gone. All gone. Everything and everyone she had ever relied upon, everyone she had ever respected, everyone she had ever loved…gone.

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"What the hell happened here!" She heard the voices from far away; they drifted towards her like waves rolling on a stormy sea. She was the rocks on the shore, eroded by their touch, worn away a little further with every breath she took. 

"My god, there's a woman in here!" Shouts across the ocean, lost to the wind and the gathering darkness. It was the touch of a human hand that woke her, burning into her own human skin with as much force as a branding iron. The force of the knowledge that she was one of them, the new truth that she could not escape, squeezed the breath from her lungs. Someone was trying to wrap a jacket around her. Their kindness revolted her. She would not be covered, she would not be protected. Not by _them_. She would fight or die. Those were her choices; those had always been her choices.

She was no longer a mutant, but sheer force of will gave her the edge. The first man, the owner of the jacket, doubled up after a hard kick to the gut. Stunned, the other three fell back, eyes wide and staring, mouths agape like fish out of water. She could still make them fear. She clung to that fragment of power and let loose the wild tornado in her heart. When it was over, four bodies lay on the cold, metal floor of the prison van and one woman stood, her naked body smeared with blood, none of it her own. One woman against the world.

She knew they would come. The sirens carried on the stormy air. She had time to run, they were still some distance away but her human form was weak. The fight had bruised its fragile skin. If she ran she would not get far. Her heart was thudding heavily in her chest. The physical pain was welcome, she wanted to drown in it, maybe then she would forget the way Eric had looked at her, like she was nothing, worse than nothing. He, of all people, knew what she had been through. After everything she had done for him, after saving his life... Flames jumped inside her heart. She had done everything for him, and he had trusted her. She knew secrets about his work no one else knew, secrets the humans would kill for. Well, this time they wouldn't have to.

The police cars arrived, three of them. In another life, she would have laughed. Three police cars, six police men, didn't they know what they were dealing with? Guns were pointed at her, words shouted. She heard her name, for it really was her name now, her slave name, her human name. Their threats did not frighten her. She knew what she was going to do. She would be their prisoner once more. One last time.

* * *

They gave her clothes. She did not want them but her human skin was cold and needed protecting. They gave her coffee. She didn't drink it. They told her she had killed all four men in the prison van bringing her total kill count to twenty three. She didn't care. She knew twenty three was a mere fraction of the total, so did they. They told her that if she co-operated they would erase her criminal record just like that. 

Officer Brian McCarthy leaned over the table. There were grey semi-circles under his eyes, and a hefty shadow where he had not shaved. It had been a long night and it didn't look like finishing any time soon. He had heard all about Raven Darkholme aka. Mystique from his colleagues. She had not given them a single word before, only a couple of broken bones and one broken neck. A lot had changed since then, in every respect. Brian hoped that he would find her more co-operative as a result. So far though, she had not spoken a word.

"He left you, didn't he?" The beautiful dark head moved but she simply stared at him, her eyes blazing. Brian swallowed. Even though he knew she was only human now and a handcuffed human to boot, there was something incredibly frightening about her.

"You must feel betrayed." Nothing. Not a flicker.

"If you tell us what you know, we'll…"

"He is planning an attack on the Worthington Institute. He has gathered an army. I can draw you maps, I can give you names. I will tell you everything I know." Brian stared at her for a moment unable to believe that it could be that easy, there had to be a catch. She stared right back, ocean eyes impenetrable.

"Right…" said Brian lamely, "Fire away."

Once she started, she found it easiest to just keep going. Her words were like poison seeping from a wound. For the first time, she wanted Magneto to fail. She wanted him to be betrayed. She wanted to be the one to turn the knife. She didn't tell the police everything, but she gave them more than enough. And she didn't much care if they backed out on their promise and kept her locked up for the rest of her life. She had nothing to live for any more.

Perhaps they would not have released her had she still been a mutant. Pointless to think about it, she knew if she was still a mutant they would never have been able to capture her in the first place. Now here she was, standing on an unknown street, owner of the clothes she was wearing and nothing else. The police had told her to go to a safe house where she would be looked after, they should have taken her there themselves but what with World War Three breaking out she had been left to her own devices. She had no intention of following their instructions. Just let them try and arrest her again, she would never go alive. People were running in every direction, screaming filled the air. She walked forwards embracing the panic which made her as good as invisible. There was a crowd in front of a shop window all watching the screens broadcasting the latest news. The crowd rippled with shock as the extent of the mutant army was revealed. Raven alone stood unmoved. She should have been acting in this play, not watching. Unable to stand it any longer, she turned around and walked away. None of the other humans would ever have guessed that she had no where to go.

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A/N: What did you think? Will you be hanging around for chapter 2? I hope so:) 


	2. Beginning Again

**Chapter Two** – Beginning again

Raven needed money. Even though humans and mutants were at war, it was pathetically easy to find a man horny enough to pay through the nose for what she could provide. She hated that her human form could make men drool, but for now it was the only strength she had. Instant money only came one of two ways, in Raven's experience, you either sold yourself or you stole it. She'd done both before. She followed the human up to his apartment. The idiot was so excited he dropped his keys twice before finally letting them in. Raven had to fight hard not to let the disgust show on her face. The inside of the apartment matched the man; dirty, smelly and small. If Magneto did not die as a result of the war, she would kill him herself just for this.

"Er…" the human was looking awkwardly at her, "I…I've never done this before." Raven smiled tightly.

"Never slept with a prostitute, you mean?" The human nodded and blushed a furious red.

"That's alright," said Raven silkily, "I've never slept with a prostitute either." The human tried to laugh but it ended up sounding more like a hiccup. Raven turned away, unable to watch him for longer than a few seconds at a time. She ran a hand over the radiator lazily knowing full well that she was being watched.

"May I have a drink?" she asked.

"Oh! Yes, of course!" The human almost tripped over himself to get to the kitchen. Raven followed him silently. When he turned and saw her right behind him, he gasped. Raven could not keep the spark from her eyes now.

"Here's your water." The human held out a dirty glass. Raven pushed it away and stepped forwards. The human inhaled sharply, she had not even kissed him and he was already about to burst. Pathetic. He didn't even notice her hand close around an object in the sink.

"Sh-shouldn't we move into the bedroom?" he stammered. Raven smiled.

"Oh, I don't see why we should when we can do it right here." The human's beady little eyes lit up. Raven allowed a mere second of hope before she plunged the dirty knife into his neck. He gasped, expression shocked and disbelieving. Raven pulled out the knife and watched him slide down the wall dispassionately only stepping back when the blood began to seep towards her shoes. They were the only pair she had, no good getting them dirty. It took him five full minutes to die. Finally with a desperate gurgle, his eyes glazed over. Raven glared at his still body. She had sold herself for money before, she would rather die herself than do it again.

The apartment did not bear rich fruit but she found enough cash in the human's wallet and under his mattress to get her started. She noticed an ash tray on the bedside table and a half empty packet of cigarettes. By the time smoke began to curl from underneath the front door, Raven was long gone.

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Larry Turnbull scratched his large stomach and licked his nicotine stained lips mechanically. The woman looking out of the grimy window at the world below was the most stunning creature he had ever seen. His one track mind zoned in on her tight little ass that was just begging to be unwrapped from its pencil skirt. When she turned round he pretended that he had been looking at the picture of the church on the wall.

"How much do you want in advance?" She was strangely direct. There was no chit chat with this one. Straight to business; Larry had to chew the inside of his cheek to stop himself chuckling. He only realised he had not answered the young woman's question when he noticed that she was staring unblinkingly at him.

"A month's rent," he said in his loud landlords voice, "Two hundred and fifty." He lowered his voice, his eyes twinkling. "But for you, I could make it two hundred. Call it a beauty bonus." The woman's lips thinned so dramatically Larry immediately thought he had offended her, but then a smile appeared. She walked over, hips swaying.Her handreached into her shirt. Larry almost fainted.

"Two hundred and fifty," she said handing him a wad of cash, "I'll move in straight away." Larry stared at her, goggle eyed.

"Do you need any help with luggage?" he asked weakly as the woman backed him towards the open front door.

"I don't have any," she replied and the moment he handed over the key she closed the door in his face.

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Raven sat down on the moth eaten old sofa which sagged even under her slight weight. She wondered how a place like this had ever passed its safety inspection. Not that it mattered, the place had a lockable front door, and a television. That was all she needed, for now. Not to mention, it was all she could afford. She wanted to relax but that was something she could never do when so much was happening just outside her window. The television flickered reluctantly to life at the press of a button. She could hear what was happening before she could see it.

"Something is happening on Golden Gate Bridge. Wait…there are new reports coming through now…"

Raven could not help feeling a little pleased. She had poured so much of her heart and soul into this plan that to see it fail would have hurt her more than she had previously realised. She was still angry, still hurt, still broken hearted but there was a part of her that still wanted to see mutants victorious even if she could not walk alongside them. No more mutants should have their powers taken from them; no one had the right to take their choice away. No one had the right to take her choice away. Feeling suddenly drained, she stood and walked around the room in an attempt to shake the bitter cobwebs from her aching mind.

"The mutants are attacking the Worthington facility. I repeat the mutants are attacking the Worthington facility!"

She was back in the living room in an instant. The picture flickered so Raven hit the set in an attempt to jog it back to life. Even when the picture returned, the news was so fragmented that it was hard to follow. Raven found herself gripping the back of the sofa tightly, her fingernails digging into the ancient fabric. There must have been deaths, on both sides. Oh god, what was happening! Tension made Raven bite down on her bottom lip, she didn't even notice when it started to bleed. _Where was he?_

As the news got more and more tense, Raven found herself clinging to the edge of the sofa cushions desperate for every new bit of information. And a tiny voice in her head kept repeating, '_Let him be alright. Please let him be alright_.'

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A/N: If you enjoyed it, let me know. If you didn't, let me know that too! I'm having such fun with this story, I hope you're enjoying it too.


	3. Release

A/N: Thank you to my reviewers. I had planned to write another chapter today but the world cup was a severe distraction...at least you have this one!

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**Chapter Three** – Release

It took hours for the news to reach any kind of coherent state. Raven listened to every broadcast hoping for more information each time but getting none. All that was known was that the Worthington Institute had been destroyed by mutant activity. That and the mutant, the source of the cure, was missing, presumed dead. That did not tell her much but at least the source of the cure was gone, that was something to cling to amongst the wreckage of nothingness. There were rough estimates of casualties but no one really knew, no one could get close enough to the devastated area and there was something about a mutant attack that had vaporised bodies leaving no trace at all. Raven knew the area would be cordoned off as soon as humanly possible, sooner if mutants were involved. She would not stand a chance at getting close. Not now she was trapped in this body. Maybe it was the fact that it was all over, or maybe it was the pressure of not knowing what she wanted to know, or maybe it was simply that she had not given herself time to grieve for what she had lost but in that moment, something inside Raven snapped.

Her scream penetrated to the very bottom floor of the building where Larry was sat watching the same news broadcast as everyone else. Alarmed, he levered himself out of his chair and began to climb the stairs. Doors on every floor were swinging open, scared faces peering out to see what was happening. Larry kept going, a sixth sense told him that the noise had come from the new occupant. When he reached her door he raised his hand to knock but hesitated. There were ripping sounds coming from inside, like someone was tearing the place apart.

Raven ignored the knocking, pretty soon she could no longer hear it. She hurled everything she could reach against the walls, shattering picture frames, upending furniture, hitting the walls with feet and fist. This should not have happened to her. This wasn't meant to happen. She was a mutant. She could not be a human for the rest of her life. She couldn't live like this, stuck in this useless skin. She scratched herself delighting in the sharp pain and the deep red lines. She wanted to hurt, she wanted to bleed. For a full fifteen minutes she raged against fate until blood ran down her arms, legs and face. Finally, exhausted in both body and mind, she collapsed in a corner and for the first time in a very long time, she began to cry.

Outside the door, Larry heard the sound of a woman crying. If he had been more of a man, he would have knocked the door down but he did not really want to hurt himself not even for the sake of a beautiful woman. Now she was crying she sounded more vulnerable than Larry would ever have suspected from the look of her. In a rare display of wisdom, he decided to leave her alone and see about the damages in the morning.

After the tears, came a silence that swallowed up everything else. Raven stared at nothing as darkness fell around her. Somehow the television had survived her onslaught and was still churning out the same news story with slightly updated figures. Raven did not even realise she was listening until something made her sit bolt upright.

"Police are searching for the powerful mutant known as Magneto who is thought to have escaped. An emergency number has been set up for any information as to his whereabouts or that of any other dangerous mutant. The number will be on the screen shortly."

Raven realised she had not been breathing. Sucking air into her lungs prodded her frozen brain into action. He was alive. Of course, he was alive! Raven's heart rose, filling her with warmth and then one of the cuts she had made on her arm gave a painful sting and she remembered. It was Eric's fault that she was human, Eric's fault that she was in this shithole, Eric's fault that there were still the remnants of tears in her eyes. He had left her to die. How she wished he was alone and unprotected right now, hiding from the police, fearful of being captured. And what if he was captured? Who would save him this time? Not faithful Mystique. Oh no. Who would he find to risk their lives for him now? She released a shuddering sigh. Eric still had his mutation, and he still had his charm. There would be a line of mutants ready to lay their life on the line for him. She was one of many. Why hadn't she been able to see that before?

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The next morning, after a quick, very half hearted attempt at putting the room back to the way it had been before, Raven left the dingy apartment block to look for a job. She had no idea what to look for or even where to look but she needed money and that was that. The fresh, morning air was just what she needed, and it was some time before she realised her feet were taking her on a path her conscious mind was not aware of. The further she walked, the higher the police presence became until the area was thick with them. Raven stayed in the shadows partly because she did not want to be recognised by one of the police officers that already knew her, but mainly because if there were any mutants around she could not bear the thought of them knowing what she had now become. Despite this, she needed to get closer. She needed to see for herself what all the months of hard work and dedication had produced. 

Raven could not get close enough to get a proper look but the sight of Golden Gate Bridge so dramatically relocated was enough to send a shiver down her spine. It was beautiful in a way, a tribute to mutant power. A lasting testament to the limits of humanity. How long had it taken them to build that bridge? Years. How long had it taken Magneto to move it? Mere moments.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Raven looked round to see a young policeman nearby. Furious with herself for having allowed someone to sneak up on her, Raven turned away without replying. The policeman plainly mistook her silence for shock.

"I don't know about you," he said, "But I felt a lot safer knowing there was a cure out there." A ripple of electric pain shot through Raven's human heart. What did the human know of safety? What did he know of fear?

"Are you alright, miss?" The policeman laid a gentle hand on her arm. Raven immediately pulled away.

"Mutation is not a disease," she said quietly, "Therefore there can be no cure." The young man's eyes widened.

"You're not a…?" he began fearfully, fingers feeling for his gun.

"No," said Raven blankly, "No. I'm human." And saying it aloud, admitting the truth, left such a bitter taste in her mouth that she did not think she would ever be rid of it.

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A/N: I don't know about you but sometimes I have the overwhelming desire to smash everything up like Mystique does in this chapter, maybe someday I will. Hope you enjoyed it. 


	4. Not Knowing

**Chapter Four – **Not knowing

During the first few weeks, Raven kept expecting to see him. Every time she turned a corner she would see Eric's face, but she would blink and he would disappear to be replaced by a stranger. And every time that happened she was filled by such a soaring hope and such a crushing rage that she knew that love and hatred could not be opposites. If they were opposites, surely she would feel nothing at all. She listened to every news broadcast she could, and bought a newspaper every day scanning every page for a mention of his name but even when it was printed there was nothing new reported. He was missing, presumed escaped, possibly dead. No one knew but the police tried to cover their failings by bluffing about following strong leads and appealing to the public for information. Wherever Magneto was, he was hidden from all prying eyes.

Raven had taken several jobs, and left several jobs. She could not get used to the feeling of being accepted by humans after such open and severe hatred. If she forgot herself for a moment while talking to a customer, something they said or a look they gave would suddenly make her remember the way they would look at her if she was still a mutant and a chilling blind hatred would overtake her. No one could get along with her, no one liked her, and Raven would not have had it any other way. Despite this, she managed to scrape enough together to cover the next month's bills but she barely had a penny to spare. Bored of wearing the same few outfits, she stole from the cash register of a supermarket finding it almost depressingly easy. If she was forced to wear clothes, she would at least choose the ones she was going to wear.

At night, while she listened to the occupants of the room next door through the paper thin walls, her thoughts wound themselves round the same few topics and she would always see his face as vividly as if his portrait had been painted on the ceiling. Magneto…Eric…. There were no more tears but sometimes at night she had to bury her head deep in the pillow to stop herself from losing control. The hours of darkness were the hardest.

Raven even thought of contacting the X-men. She felt sure they would know what had happened to Eric, most probably they had a hand in it. What stopped her was the thought of them recognising her, she could not face them knowing. And if Eric or someone else had already told them, then she would rather die than show her face. Better they believe her dead, she might as well be to them, her weak human form would never be a threat again. Still, the knawing uncertainty was eating away at her and though she was sure she would kill Eric if she ever saw him again, she had to know, had to find out. So she kept looking, and she kept hoping that maybe, just maybe, he was out there somewhere searching just as hard for her.

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Larry liked to watch her. He knew the sound of her footsteps on the stairs so he could always orchestrate an "accidental" meeting as she left or entered the building. She never exchanged pleasantries, never commented on the weather or the latest news. Her eyes were always cold, her lips drawn together, her stance ready for flight at a moment's notice. It was meant to deter him, of course, to throw off the illusion that she was a hard bitch, too icy for love, too frigid for sex but Larry knew better. He fancied himself a woman expert, based on what evidence no one would ever know. The looks that made other men turn away with fear in their hearts, only spurred him to greater heights convinced that she was playing hard to get. Maybe she had been hurt in the past, spurned by a former lover, everyone knew what that could do to a woman…especially a passionate woman, for that's exactly what Raven was in his dreamsevery night. He imagined her cold lips pressing against his. She liked it rough, he was sure of that. She wanted a man she could hurt, she wanted to be hurt herself. She was that kind of bitch.

When she came to pay her second month's rent, he tried to invite her in. She took one look at the dirty, clothes strewn floor and was gone before he could say another word. When she came to pay her third month's rent, he made sure the place was clean. He made sure he looked presentable too; new shirt, liberal aftershave, close shave. But she barely looked at him. When he blurted out that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, she gave him such a glare that he almost swallowed his tongue. That night he dreamed that she returned to him in the dead of night and ravaged him 'til morning. When he awoke, sweaty and tangled in his bed clothes alone he was determined. He would get very drunk, to help work up the nerve, and then he would break through that heart of ice.

When he knocked on her door that evening, his palms would not stop sweating. He wiped them repeatedly on his trousers and focused on what he was going to say.

"Raven, I think it's obvious how I feel about you, and stop me if I'm wrong but I think you feel the same way about…"

"You're wrong." Her ocean blue eyes were swirling. If he didn't know better, he might have thought they were laughing at him. She was about to close the door again but he had the presence of mind to stop her. Her eyes flashed dangerously but he did not move his hand away.

"Just let me come in," he said still foolishly hopeful that he would break through her cold exterior.

"No," she said, her tone firm and unwavering. Still, Larry did not take the hint. He began to feel his face turning red, shame made him angry.

"I own this god damn building. If I say let me in, that's exactly what you do." To his surprise, Raven swung open the door revealing the room beyond.

"You enter, you die," she said simply. Larry laughed and pushed his way inside, alcohol making him through all caution to the wind. Raven shut the door slowly behind him. He'd had fair warning.

No one heard a thing. The police found Larry Turnbull three days later, his face blue, a pair of tights wrapped around his fat neck. They found no trace of the former occupant of the apartment, no belongings, not even any fingerprints. And when they asked the other residents for a description, they found that not one of them had seen her. Frustrated, they offered reward money for any information but no one was willing to speak out against the woman with the cold, cold eyes.

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Another murder meant Raven was on the move again, but this time she had a destination in mind. The constant uncertainty was close to driving her insane, it had been months now. She was never going to find out any information about Eric without help. It was worth the risk. She was going to see the X-men.

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A/N: Thank you for reviewing! And for spurring me to update faster than I ever have before. Let me know what you think. 


	5. Without the Professor

A/N:I re-named this story after listening to a song of the same title which I thought suited the story perfectly. And I re-did the summary. Summaries are hard, right? I'm still not sure I'm satisfied with it so maybe I'llchange it again, anyway, here's the next chapter!

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Chapter Five – Without the Professor**

Raven found it easy to get lifts from truck drivers when she undid the first few buttons of her shirt and let her breasts do the talking. Such actions sickened her to the core, and every car horn, every ogling pair of eyes made a murderous flame of rage shoot up inside her, but she made herself swallow it. She made herself pretend that this human form was temporary, that she was just using it to get what she wanted and then she would turn back to her normal self. That pretence was a hard one to keep up, but sometimes she forgot it was a lie, and sometimes she made herself believe it was the truth.

Standing outside Xavier's school it was harder to pretend. This was a refuge for mutants; they would not welcome a human. Her choice was simple. Lie or tell the truth. As she walked up to the large front door, she still had not made her mind up on which path she would choose. She stood in front of the door for some time, emotions coursing through her. How many times had she entered this mansion under a different guise? More times than even Xavier knew. She would have to rely solely on her wits to get her by this time, but Xavier would be quick to know her for what she really was. Would he take pity on her? Or would he cast her out without assistance? Raven would rather he cast her out. She had lived with her own pity long enough, but she would endure it as a means to an end. With that thought she raised her hand and rang the bell.

The door opened just wide enough for her to make out a face. A pair of light blue eyes looked at her, their gaze open but cautious. She did not recognise him.

"Can I help you?" he asked. Raven wondered why he did not open the door any further. What exactly was his mutation?

"Oh, I hope so," she said in a breathy, panicked voice, "My name's Laura Foster, I'm here to see the Professor. I really need to talk to him." The blue eyes widened, and the door opened a little wider.

"Has no one told you?" he whispered. Raven's heart jumped. Something had happened.

"Told me what?" Raven played her part well, her breathing becoming shuddery as she waited for the news. In truth, Laura's reaction was close to the one she herself was experiencing.

"I…I don't know how to tell you this but…Charles Xavier is dead." Raven waited just long enough for the bombshell to drop, then her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed on the doorstep in a dead faint too quickly for the mutant to catch her.

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The stranger was lying, still unconscious, in the medical wing. Hank McCoy was watching over her, his kind, gentle presence a vast contrast to the hostility just outside the closed door.

"We don't know anything about her," snapped Wolverine more animated than he had been for weeks. None of the X-men could truly claim to have recovered from the events of a few months ago which had left them all bereft in one way or another.

"Angel could not very well have just left her there, passed out at our front door," returned Storm, her mood matching Wolverine's for strength.

"Please…" said gentle Angel, "I didn't mean to…" But the others ignored him.

"You know what, Logan? If you're so worried about her being a threat to the school, why don't you stay down here and guard her? Lord knows, you're no use with the children in this mood." Storm stared at him, daring him to try and deny this but Wolverine knew it was true. He wasn't really fighting for the safety of the school, he just needed to fight. He needed to release some of the rage that kept building up inside him making him snap at the children and butt heads with Storm on every little thing.

"Fine," he said wearily, anger draining away as fast as it had erupted. Storm sighed. These altercations weren't helping anything, at least this one had been out of earshot of the children. As if they didn't have enough to cope with.

"I've got lessons to prepare," she said stiffly, "I'll see you guys later." Angel remained behind as she walked away.

"I really am sorry," he said quietly, eyes downcast. Wolverine lit the end of a cigar, his fourth already this morning. He still felt sympathy for the angelic mutant; his life had hardly been a bed of roses. And even now he still wasn't used to being able to fly free.

"Don't worry about it, kid. Hell, she's not even a mutant, what possible danger could she be?"

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Raven heard the door to the room slide open, footsteps walk through and the door slide shut once more. She was alone. They had bought her act hook, line and sinker. Smiling to herself, Raven sat up and slid her legs off the bed. As she looked around, she felt a pang of longing so strong that it momentarily took her breath away. She was no longer part of this world. She shook her head to clear it but unbidden an image of Charles Xavier entered her mind, fixing itself there. Her faint might have been fake but the emotions behind it were real. Xavier dead; the news had rocked her world on its foundations. He might have led the X-men against the Brotherhood but he was always there, a constant presence, an unswerving voice speaking out against the oppression of their kind. There would never be anyone like him again. _Did Eric know?_ Raven stood up, forcing her mind to the present. She had to focus if she was to get the information she desired. If she played things right, there would be time for questions later.

It did not take her long to find a drawer containing surgical equipment. She removed a scalpel and slipped it up her sleeve. Using it would spell the end of her plan, but she couldn't be too careful. She approached the door to the medical wing slowly, ready to act dazed and confused should anyone enter. Looking out of the small glass window revealed nothing. Judging it safe to proceed, Raven pressed the button to open the doors, they parted with a gentle whoosh. She waited for a couple of seconds to see if anyone was close enough to be attracted by the noise then passed straight through.

"Going somewhere?" Raven jumped and did the worst possible thing. She dropped the scalpel. The noise of it clattering onto the floor was worse than a gun shot. Ready to launch 'Laura' into an elaborate set of lies, Raven looked up and the words died on her lips. Wolverine was watching her. He had been standing there, waiting, guarding. She would never have got passed him. And though he was leaning casually against the wall, smoking his customary cigar, Raven knew one wrong move and she would feel the sharp end of his adamantium claws for the second time in her life.

"I…I…where am I?" She looked around, making her breath come in short frightened gasps. "What happened?" Wolverine could not have looked less interested.

"Look," he said after a deep drag of his cigar, "I don't know what you wanted here with the professor…but he's gone, so it might be a good idea if you went too." Raven noticed the way he avoided her eyes, not wanting her to see that he was hurting too.

"How did he…?" Raven looked down at the ground, amazed that he had not yet mentioned the scalpel; perhaps he truly believed her disorientated act. Asking about Xavier's death was one step too far, apparently. Wolverine snapped shut; Raven could almost hear him growling. Better to be angry than let the pain in.

"Did you not hear what I said? You're not welcome here." _You're not one of us_. Raven felt the unspoken words like ice shards in her broken heart.

"I just want to…" she began, the tears in her eyes serving dual purpose. But Wolverine had tensed. Raven knew she had said or done something wrong, or perhaps he had just sensed that something was not right. She wondered whether it was worth trying to grab the scalpel. She had just decided that she had nothing to lose when she heard the unmistakeable '_snikt_' of Wolverine's claws emerging. She looked up, and pretence fell away. When he looked into her eyes this time, he got the real her.

It took only a second for Wolverine to have her backed up against the wall, claws at her throat. The look in his eyes was murderous.

"I knew there was something off about you," he hissed claws creeping ever closer to her fragile skin. "You want to tell me why you're really here, Mystique?"

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A/N: Yay! Wolverine and Mystique! I'm sorry, I loved writing this chapter! Thank you for all the lovely reviews of the last chapter, please let me know what you think of this one.


	6. Earning Their Trust

A/N: So what happens between Wolverine and our favourite ex-metamorph? You're about to find out...

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**Chapter Six** – Earning their trust

Raven found she was not afraid. Did Wolverine really think that death was the worst thing that could happen to her? She realised that he was waiting for her to change back to her mutant self, to reveal herself now she had been found out. To tell him, to have him know what had happened to her…she could not bear it.

"I'm not who you think I am," she said maintaining his eye contact. Despite her current predicament, she still found time to admire those fierce eyes. He was so attractive when he was angry.

"Oh no?" The claws pressed into her neck making her wince. "Give it up, Mystique." She had to tell him. It was a simple choice, tell him or die. Wolverine was in no mood to be played with. She took a deep shuddering breath.

"I'm no longer a mutant." The shame swirled inside her stomach, making her feel physically sick with it. Wolverine's eyes narrowed. Of course, he did not believe her.

"They hit me with the cure." She could not help it. Bitter tears rose, filling her eyes. She could not look at him, could not face his pity. She had actually closed her eyes when she heard the sound of Wolverine's claws retracting.

* * *

Wolverine could only stare at her. Now that she had said it, it seemed obvious. The reason he had not sensed her at first, the differences he could sense now. He had no love for the shape shifter but such a fate seemed too harsh. He felt almost ashamed for having threatened her. Unlike her mutant self, she was now utterly defenceless.

"Don't look at me like that." Her hands had formed fists, her beautiful face contorted with fury. "You have no idea…no idea…" Wolverine ran a hand through his hair, suddenly unsure what to do. It was impossible to accept that the person in front of him was her, not a disguise.

"How did it happen?" A terrible look of pain flashed across her face. He did not think she would answer but after a pause, she began.

"I let the police arrest me, we needed some information. The Brotherhood came to rescue me, but the police had armed themselves with guns loaded with the cure. Shots were fired, I got hit."

"So what happened then?" Why hadn't she been at Golden Gate Bridge with the others? Mystique just looked at him and the truth dawned on him, making his heart drop like a stone. The Brotherhood of Mutants had gone on without her. He changed the subject.

"You wanted to see Xavier? Why?"

"I thought he might be able to help me. I didn't know what else to do." She looked defeated. There was no other word for it. He never thought he would see the day.

"I guess it's time I went." She turned then, looking back, said, "I am sorry. He was a good man."

* * *

Raven could not help marvelling at the ease at which she had been able to work Wolverine round. The guy acted tough but it was his heart that was the weakest spot. Play to his sympathy and he was putty in your hands. And now here she was, standing in the sunshine in front of Charles Xavier's grave. Beside it were two smaller graves, one marked 'Scott Summers', the mutant known as Cyclops; the other was marked 'Dr Jean Grey'. So Jean Grey was dead, no wonder Wolverine was feeling tender. She had guessed his feelings for the psychic mutant some time ago. Eric had told her about Jean, and the power Xavier kept locked up inside her. The strange events she had heard about regarding the destruction of the Worthington facility all made sense now. Eric had unleashed her upon the world. And Wolverine had killed her.

She heard someone join her. She tore her eyes away from the graves to look. It was the blue eyed mutant who had answered the door only now she could see him for what he truly was. Two magnificent white wings stretched out either side of him. She could not contain the rush of amazement that flooded her as she admired them. He could not help noticing her attention.

"I'm Warren," he said holding out his hand. He had a gentle, timid voice. Raven could guess parts of his story; she knew it all too well. Mutation was hard enough when you had a chance of hiding it but such an obvious mutation just invited hostility. "The others told me what happened to you." He looked remorseful to be bringing it up at all. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry. My…my father was the one who…he invented the cure." Raven felt nothing, no anger, no pain, just cool indifference. It did not matter who invented it, what was done was done.

"It wasn't your fault," she said and she turned back to look at the graves. So much had happened. So much death. So much pain. She turned back to Warren, a question forming in her mind. "Did your father not want you to take the cure?" He nodded.

"I almost did," he said very quietly, "But I couldn't…I couldn't."

"Did he forgive you?" Raven knew mankind. She knew their capacity for intolerance, their ability to hate that which once they loved with all their heart.

"Yes," said Warren and for the first time she saw the beginnings of a smile on his face, "Things are getting better now." Raven smiled too, she could not help it. She only wished she could believe it.

* * *

"What do you think? Is she telling the truth?" Storm was clutching at her wrap as if it was freezing cold. She was understandably anxious. Mystique was the enemy.

"Well, she's not a mutant," replied Wolverine, "That part's true. Whether she's sorry about Charles' death, I don't know. She wants something from us, that's for sure. I don't think she came here for an antidote." Storm shivered.

"I wish she would go," she said.

"Not very charitable of you," observed Wolverine. He wanted exactly the same thing but Storm was trying to run the school with Xavier's ideals in mind, and Wolverine felt sure he would not have turned Mystique away. Storm sniffed. He knew she was thinking it too. _I wish Charles was here_.

"Is everything alright?" Hank joined them, his eyes on Storm's unhappy face. She gave him a brief smile.

"Fine," she lied. Hank looked over at where Angel and Mystique were talking.

"Nice to see Warren relaxing a little." Wolverine looked at the scene again. He had not been paying any attention to Warren, he suspected that was the problem, no one had been paying him any attention.

"Do you trust her?" Storm asked Hank turning to him for advice as she did so often.

"Trust? Heavens no," he said, "But I sympathise with her plight. By all accounts, she has had a difficult life. I believe it's fair to say that this is only one more painful chapter." He sighed. "She did not seem to know anything about what happened, no more than the news reporters at any rate. I wonder if she knows about Magneto." Both Wolverine and Storm looked up at him.

"That's it," said Storm alight for the first time since Mystique's arrival, "She wants to find him."

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A/N: Big thank yous to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it's wonderful to hear from all of you. Updates are likely to be a little slower now that I'm home from uni, family demands and all that. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. 


	7. Dissolve to Black

A/N: Just came back from seeing X3 for the second time and can't wipe the smile from my face. Such a good film!

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Chapter Seven – Dissolve to Black

They were in Xavier's office. As soon as the clock struck three, the sound of pupils filled the corridors. Storm listened to them. To hear their laughter was to turn back the clock. She could tell the others felt the same way at these times from the way they all fell silent and listened. Xavier was still with them in those moments; Jean and Scott were just out of sight. When the children moved off, the silence that was left was a little deeper and a little sadder than the silence that had been there before. At the moment, it was only Mystique and herself in the room. Mystique was stood by the window looking out at the world. She had not spoken for almost half an hour. Storm decided the time had come.

"We can't help you," she said as gently as she could, "As far as we know, there is no antidote." Mystique did not stir.

"I know," is all she said.

"You didn't come here for an antidote, did you?"

"No." Storm sat down on the edge of Charles' desk. Wolverine was right, now time to test her own theory.

"Did you come here to find Magneto?" Mystique turned round sharply. The sunlight streaming in through the window meant her features were hidden by shadow but Storm did not need to see them to know she had been right. Now she had to decide how much she was going to tell her.

"I know they didn't find him," Mystique said moving forwards towards a chair in front of the desk. She referred to the police. Storm heard a distinct loathing in the way she stressed 'they'.

"No," she said, "They didn't." Mystique sat down on the chair and crossed her long, strong legs. She was the picture of calm, Storm could only guess at the turmoil inside.

"Is he dead?" The worst possibility first. Mystique's eyes were boring into hers.

"No." If she had blinked, she might have missed the tiny sigh of relief, other than that Mystique did not react in any way.

"So he escaped," she said her eyes scanning Storm's face, "You let him escape." Storm started at the beginning.

"Your plan was to kill the boy, the mutant source of the cure."

"Yes," said Mystique expressionlessly, "He had to be destroyed."

"We couldn't let that happen."

"I know."

"Magneto was thwarting our every attack. It was us or him," Storm said heavily, "We had no choice." Mystique continued watching her, waiting. Storm did not know how she would react, but she had come this far, she had to keep going. "He lost his powers."

* * *

"No." It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Her calm irreparably fractured, Raven stood up. This was not happening.

"We had no choice," said Storm's voice from a thousand miles away, "He made his choice." Raven turned away. Her bottom lip was trembling and she could not stop it. What was wrong with her? Suddenly a pain in the region of her abdomen made her breath in sharply. Her human skin was stifling her; she wanted to tear it off.

"Mystique? Are you alright?" But Raven could not answer, the pain was intensifying. She doubled over, gasping.

"Help!" called Storm's voice before she fell to her knees beside Raven. The last thing Raven remembered was Storm's eyes looking down over her, eyes full of concern.

When she woke, she was back in the medical wing staring up at the white ceiling. The pain was still there, but weaker, much weaker. She lay perfectly still counting the beat of her own heart. It was still racing.

"How are you feeling now?" A blue face appeared over her. She found the colour more comforting than the sympathetic expression on Hank McCoy's kind face.

"I'm fine," she replied, "What happened?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," Hank replied, "Perhaps a reaction to the shock of…"

"No," said Raven quickly. That was not true. She was shocked, yes, but it was something physical that had made her collapse like that.

"No, I didn't think so either," said Hank, "I have run a few tests. Perhaps…" But Raven was sitting up.

"I think it might be best if you stayed lying down for a while," he suggested.

"I don't think so," said Raven curtly, "Where is Storm?"

"She is teaching," replied Hank, "She will be finished around six, I could set you up in a spare room until then if you would prefer that." Raven was not in the mood to be patient. She only needed one more piece of information from the X-men, then she would be gone. Her thoughts must have been obvious for Hank laid a soothing hand on her arm.

"I know the information of which you seek," he said, "But I feel it is only fair to warn you, Storm is unlikely to tell you where Magneto is. I am sure you can understand why." No, she could not understand. Did the X-men still consider Eric a threat? Did they consider her to be a threat? Something ruptured inside her and the secret which she had been so determined to keep hidden came bursting forth.

"I was shot with the cure dart to protect him. I sacrificed my mutation for Magneto. And he left me there. He left me to fend for myself." Her eyes shone with the strange, powerful light only the thought of vengeance can give. "Now he is human too." Hank looked troubled, his eyebrows knitted together.

"I am truly sorry," he said seriously, "What you have been through, I cannot imagine, but you must understand why neither I nor any of the other X-men can give you the information you seek. There is murder on your mind, and Charles would never…"

"Xavier is dead." Raven's words bounced off the white walls and reverberated in the air. Hank lowered his eyes but stayed silent, his mind made up.

"I will have my revenge," Raven whispered darkly, "With or without your help."

She did not expect Wolverine to be waiting outside the room again but this time he did not startle her. Instead she rounded on him, ready to die fighting if she had to but Wolverine's was not a fighting stance.

"I heard what you said." He indicated the room she had just left. Raven's lips thinned.

"Is it true?" Wolverine was observing her closely waiting for her to slip up and Raven realised that this was her one chance. If there was one member of the X-men she could rely on to know the true meaning of revenge it was Wolverine.

"It's true," she said and this time she did not attempt to hide the barrage of emotions that shook her upon admitting it. Magneto had abandoned her. Eric had left her for dead. She had been stripped of everything, and he hadn't cared.

"Angel's seen him," said Wolverine keeping his voice low, "He's still in San Francisco. Angel said no one would recognise him now he's not a threat. Word is he likes to play chess when it's sunny." It wasn't an address, but it was a start. Raven had to admit, she would not have considered the possibility of Eric remaining so close to the scene of his crime.

"Would have liked to kill him myself," added Wolverine as an afterthought. Raven allowed herself a tiny smile.

"You as good as have."

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A/N: Thank you for all your kind words and thoughtful responses, you are definitely encouraging me to write faster and faster!


	8. The Devil Inside

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! (if you'd like me to reply to you, please leave your email address and I will try to get back to you).

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Chapter Eight – The devil inside**

She left the mansion after acquiring one more thing. A quick flick through some of the bedrooms has given her enough cash to get back to San Francisco and perhaps even set herself up in another shithole. Out of gratitude, perhaps, she left Wolverine's room alone, though her respect did not extend any further than that, the dead Jean Grey's room was fair game. She had to admit, she was surprised that she had received such hospitality from the X men after all the bad blood that had occurred between them in the past, but as Eric always said they were all too soft for their own good.

Finding another apartment was not easy with the limited resources Raven had at her disposal. Unwilling to have a repeat of what happened last time, she covered herself up completely, she would be lent a place on the basis of her money not her looks this time and maybe they would all live to see the end of the agreement. Finally, she found a semi-decent place for a reasonable rent not far from the park she would be stalking for the next year if that's how long it took. It was hard to wait until morning. When Raven eventually fell asleep her dreams were full of metal and flame.

The problem of money raised its ugly head again when Raven woke to the unpleasant feeling of an empty stomach. Feeling almost faint from lack of food, she removed the last of the stolen dollars and went to find the nearest shop. The money did not go far but it was enough for now. She was so hungry she ate dry bread on the street corner, ignoring the looks from passers-by. With that finished, she was about to cross the road and make her way to the park when a spasm of pain made her hand shoot to her abdomen. It was the same pain that she had felt in Xavier's school, the pain that had caused the world to dissolve into black. She tried to ignore it, forcing her protesting body to walk, but her mind was screaming. Unable to stand the thought of human hands touching her should she fall, Raven stumbled into the shadows of a nearby alleyway. The pain was so intense spots were forming in front of her eyes. She tried to take deep breaths, but her lungs wouldn't cooperate. Unable to hold the pain inside, she began to moan. It felt like something was trying to burst out of her body. Her legs gave way, leading her to collapse on the dirty, litter strewn ground. She whimpered, hating herself for being so pathetic but unable to control it, but it was too much, too much…

* * *

Peter scuttled into the alleyway. He had lived on the streets for four years now, and he could smell food a mile off. There was a dustbin around here somewhere just begging to be raided; it was criminal what some people threw away. In the gathering darkness of evening, he failed to notice the body lying on the slimy ground until he was almost on top of it. When he saw the arm stretched out, he jumped backwards in alarm but when he established that the body was not moving he edged closer again, curiosity getting the better of him. It was probably another druggie; he'd seen a lot of them. Too much, too often and this was the result. She was beautiful though, very beautiful. Not the kind of clothes a druggie usually wore either…too neat. Peter began to feel a little nervous. If something bad had gone down here, it would do him no favours to be caught in the middle of it. He'd been to prison once before and had absolutely no desire to repeat the experience. He was all set to get the hell out of there when his conscience got the better of him. He couldn't just leave her here. He had least had to find out whether she was alive or dead.

He reached a dirty hand out to touch her pale skin. He poked her. When she did not react, he took hold of her wrist and tried to find a pulse. It took him a while but at last he found it, and it was reassuringly strong. So the woman was just unconscious, that was encouraging. Death was a lot trickier. Peter crouched down and shook her very gently.

"Time to wake up, sweetheart." From lifeless one second, to bolt upright the next, Peter had no time to react as the woman he had thought to be helpless struck at his throat with one well aimed kick. He tried to breath but it felt like she had crushed his wind pipe. The last thing he saw before the darkness caved in around him was a pair of wild eyes.

* * *

She didn't kill him. When she left the alley, he was just beginning to come round. Raven was just glad she had woken to a harmless tramp and no one else. The echoes of the pain remained. She felt weak and shivery, and frightened. The moment she locked the front door behind her she began tearing off her clothes. Buttons tore off and skidded across the floor but she didn't care. Standing naked, she checked every inch of her body searching for an external sign of the illness that was crippling her but the only thing she could find was a tiny bruise, the size of a pea, no bigger, in the location the syringe loaded with the cure had punctured her skin. She stood and tried to tell herself that she was ok, that nothing was wrong, but she could not believe it. She needed to go to a doctor, but the thought of a human prodding at her made her skin crawl. She had survived everything else, she would survive this. It was another test. She would overcome it. All the same, worry kept her awake all night, worry that the pain might return.

Raven did not want to admit it even to herself, but it was the thought of finding Eric that kept her going. He was her goal. All of this was his fault, he would pay for everything that had happened to her, everything that _was_ happening to her. It was the thought of finding him that made her bury the fear of more pain deep down inside her heart. It was the thought of the expression on his face when she looked him in the eye that gave her the strength to find a job at a nearby café where she had to deal with every revolting aspect of human life for six hours a day. It was the thought of ending his life that made her spend every spare daylight moment on the bench by the stone chess tables in the park. Even when she crawled into bed at night after hours of waiting in vain, the hatred burning inside her refused to let her give up. And every night, she dreamed of him.

Sunday dawned beautiful, sunny with a light breeze. Exactly the kind of day someone might choose to spend outdoors. There were certainly a lot of people out and about. Raven weaved in and out of the other humans hardly noticing them. She was not interested in their laughter or their happy smiles. They were in the way, that was all. She focussed on the distant chess tables. From here she could already make out the vague shapes of people. None of them looked like Eric. As her heart sank, she was reminded of exactly how much she wanted this to happen. She got closer approaching the bench she had taken up residence of recently. She could wait there, more or less out of view. She could wait and watch for as long as it took. She kept her appearance hidden as much as possible, if Eric saw her first the whole deal would be off. She could not afford for that to happen.

It was one twenty on that sunny afternoon when Raven's heart skipped a beat. There, walking slowly towards one of the empty chess tables, was a man wearing a beige coat and a grey flat cap. He was stooped, shoulders hunched and he kept his eyes firmly on the ground, but something about her rang bell's in Raven's head. But he looked so old, maybe she was mistaken. All this waiting, all this wanting…maybe she was seeing things that weren't there. The man had almost reached the chess table when a woman pushed in front of him taking the seat he had been moving slowly towards. She didn't even notice him. The old man stared at the back of her head in disbelief but he did not attempt to challenge her, after a second or two he simply continued on to the next table. But not before Raven had got a good look at his face. It was him. She hadn't a doubt in the world.

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A/N: Ah, so close and yet so far. I promise there will be Raven/Eric interaction in the next chapter! 


	9. Face to Face

A/N: Finally! This chapter was meant to be up days ago but I had problems uploading it, I'm sorry if you've been waiting. At last, Raven and Eric meet face to face...

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Chapter Nine – Face to Face

Raven was so close to him now, she could see the hairs on the back of his neck. She used to run her hand across them when he was tense. Memories like that were the hardest. Raven clenched her hand into such a tight fist that her fingernails bit into her palm. _Remember what he did to you_. _Don't ever forget_. But her anger never reached its full potential, for as she watched him she saw not a powerful leader but a broken man. Every time Eric reached forwards to move one of the chess pieces his whole body tensed. Each time he picked up something metal it was a reminder of what had been and what could never be again. Eric Lensherr would never again be Magneto.

When she slipped into the seat opposite, he jumped slightly, startled by the interruption. His blue eyes moved upwards. Recognition was almost immediate. At least, Raven thought bitterly, she had not been forgotten. Eric let out a small sigh before moving one of the pawns forwards one square.

"I've been expecting you," he said in the same voice that she had heard make grown men tremble only this time it was quiet, soft almost, "Will you kill me here or shall we retreat to somewhere more private?" Raven felt her stomach clench tight. It was exactly that kind of attitude that had ensnared her in the first place, the air of utter superiority, the unnerving aura of intelligence, that and his biting sarcasm, the only part that was missing. She forced her head to rid itself of such thoughts. He had reeled her in and then cast her aside. She surveyed the game in front of her with revulsion. All she had been was a pawn.

"I must say, Mystique, you are looking well. Faring better than I am under the circumstances, at any rate." She flinched at the use of her mutant name but other than that remained expressionless. He would try and talk his way out of trouble, as usual. Only this time, it wouldn't work.

"I have been waiting for someone to put me out of my misery. I am rather glad that it will be you. I had hoped, you know." Raven's felt her insides burn. He was taunting her. No, she wouldn't allow it; she was the one in the driving seat now.

"How did you find me?" It was the first direct question he had asked.

"Some skills weren't part of my mutation," she quipped.

"A good answer," said Eric with a small smile, "It gives away nothing, informs me you are still a force to be reckoned with and reminds me of what I did, if I should have been so careless as to have forgotten." He began to run one finger down the black king piece, his brow furrowed, apparently lost in thought. Raven wanted to laugh. Some of that emotion must have showed on her face for Eric looked up mildly.

"Oh, I know just what you're thinking, my dear. Here I am, feeling sorry for myself when I brought this fate upon myself. But you...well, one could argue the same applies." Raven scowled, her features darkening.

"I sacrificed myself for you," she snarled, "Or don't you remember?" Once more, Eric sighed but deeper this time.

"I remember," he said very quietly.

"And do you also recall how you repaid me?" said Raven, her own voice rising as the blood in her veins grew hot. Maybe she would kill him here, in front of all these people. Maybe she watch him die then laugh as the police arrested her. Eric was watching her with his cool blue eyes, not with fear or apprehension but with something close to satisfaction.

"A lesser person would not have survived," he said, "But you, Mystique, I knew you would find a way." Raven bristled.

"Mystique no longer exists, she died for you." Eric's face suddenly became very serious.

"That is where you are wrong, my dear. It is Mystique that is sitting in front of me now, it is Mystique that I abandoned so cruelly all those months ago and it is Mystique who will deliver me from this world like she has done so many others. It is Raven who died, a long time ago."

She almost believed him. Oh, how she longed to believe him. Just being with him made her feel more like the mutant she had been. His words were spinning a web of silken lies that felt so much more comfortable than the cold, harsh truth. Once she had been powerless to resist him, today she was stronger. She was prepared to fight against anything, his charm, his wit, his fierce intelligence. She was prepared to fight anything except a sign of weakness. It was when she looked up suddenly intending to fight that she saw it. She must have caught Eric unawares, a rare thing in itself, but when she looked at his face she saw pain, and fear, and loneliness etched into the lines and shining in the deepest part of his eyes. In that second, gone was the man she knew, replaced by an older, weaker stranger; the kind of man she would never have believed Eric could be. He had noticed her watching him.

"You see, my dear, this is what I am reduced to. The life of a mere human," he spat out the word rather than spoke it, "Condemned to spend the rest of my days as that which I most detest. That is why I welcome the end so gladly, and it is all the sweeter for me to know that you are the last thing I shall ever see. If I could have chosen my fate, I would have been happy to make such a choice."

Tears filled her eyes, welling up from deep inside her, the part which she had tried to keep hidden away because it hurt too much. She knew right then that she would never hurt him, and that perhaps she had never intended to. Maybe he knew that too but it didn't matter. She would not stand idly by and watch Eric Lensherr fade away into obscurity, the man, to borrow his phrase, was a god among insects, and he was the closest thing to family she had ever known since becoming a mutant. Things would never be the same, there could be no trust, no shared secrets, no admissions of love, but she would not kill him, she could not kill him.

"Where are you staying?" Mystique asked. Eric looked surprised.

"A rundown hovel quite close by. In fact…" He turned on his seat and pointed at a dark building. "There." Mystique burned with shame on Eric's behalf. She had been to look round that place when she was finding a place to stay herself and it made her rat infested, shithole look like palace.

"Not any more," she said, "My new place isn't big, but it's got room for two. It'll do for the time being." Eric stared at her. She had never seen an expression like that on his face before.

"My dear, surely you can't mean…" He broke off. "You cannot have forgiven me."

"I'm not sure I ever will," Mystique said but even as the words tumbled from her mouth she felt the bitterness inside her begin to dissolve around the edges. Here was the man she had hated, the man she had loved, perhaps the two were opposites after all; only love was stronger because it burned a way through hate's thick ice. Eric was looking at the chess pieces again, this time focussing on the black queen. The silence between them stretched on but Mystique did not feel uncomfortable, instead she felt warm for the first time since the cure. She cursed herself for being weak enough to forgive him, but he was suffering too, perhaps even more than she was. She was about to ask what Eric had been doing since events at the Worthington Institute when the black queen piece wobbled. Mystique stared at it, her heart in her mouth. Magneto had not touched it. When she looked up at him, she saw that he was smiling. She suddenly realised what fools they both were, getting excited about something so insignificant. With one sharp movement, she unceremoniously swept all of the chess pieces onto the floor.

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A/N: So? What do you think of Mystique now?Let me know. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I'm sorry I had to keep you waiting for this one!


	10. Diagnosis

A/N: Mystique and Eric are back together, and they are a joy to write! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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**Chapter Ten** – Diagnosis

Raven watched Eric carefully as he took in her meagre home surroundings. She could see the revulsion in his eyes but, to her surprise, he said nothing. A silence fell between them, unspoken thoughts gathering like thick storm clouds above their heads. Raven could not quite believe she was sitting opposite the man she had sworn to kill, having invited him into her home and even made him tea. During the short walk to her apartment, Raven could have been walking with a stranger rather than the person she knew best. Whereas before, Eric would walk proud daring the world to challenge him, now he kept his head down and refused to look the world in the eye. He was ashamed, humiliated, weakened and defeated. And Raven could not bear it. The silence stretched on, like an enchantment, too strong to be broken but Raven had to speak. Her shift at the café was due to begin in half an hour.

"My Mystique, working in a café? Oh, that is intolerable."

"What would you rather I do, Eric? Sleep on the streets?" The passion of her response surprised him.

"My dear, I did not mean to imply…"

"Don't, Eric. I want everything back the way it was just as much as you do, but it's over. That life is over." She thought of the chess piece falling over, and the look on Eric's face, the absurd level of optimism on the otherwise melancholic face. "Party tricks, that's all we have left."

"Is that so?" said Eric coolly clearly not appreciating the defamation of what he considered to be a sizeable achievement. "I see you have become quite hot headed in my absence." This was like the spark to dry timber.

"In your absence! You left me to die, Eric! And don't you dare try to claim otherwise. I would have given my life for you, I _did_ give my life for you, and here you are trying to make me believe that I need you! I don't need you, Eric. This is my apartment, this is my charity. You need me." Raven was on her feet, her chest heaving. She had stood up to Eric before but now she towered over him and watched as he shrank back from her rage, and she realised that, for the first time in their relationship, he was afraid of her.

* * *

Mystique left without saying another word, slamming the door on her way out. Eric waited for the reverberations to settle before allowing himself to think. She always had been prone to passionate outbursts, and he had been on the receiving end of quite a few, but they had never disagreed on anything fundamental. Their goal had been so simple; mutant freedom, mutant domination. She had been the one person who had embraced every aspect of the Brotherhood's mission, the one person whom he had trusted with every detail of every plan, the one person in whom he had placed his personal confidence. And though they might have been evenly matched on some things, he had always been more powerful. Everything was different now. No one could imagine the dark world he had been dragging himself through before she had arrived. He felt like he was living without a heartbeat, the force that kept blood running through his veins had been torn from his body. He thought anger would sustain him, but anger had not come, only a desperate aching misery that made the sky dark on the brightest day, and sound dull even in the liveliest setting. Part of that misery came from the loss of his powers, of course, but another part came from the knowledge of the past, the things he had done weighed more heavily upon him now. He relived the death of Charles so often that he began to feel he had been killed along with him; and he remembered abandoning the one person who had been loyal in the face of every obstacle, the one woman he had ever loved. Regret had not come until he had been staring into the face of the monster he had created, Phoenix's power more terrible than he had ever imagined, but when regret had come it had come without measure. In those first few desperate days, he had felt all the pain he had caused come back to him full strength and it had nearly killed him. More than a few times, Eric wished that he truly had died. Anything was better than his life, a half-life, living with the perpetual understanding that you were to blame for your own fate.

His bones ached as he stood up, another reminder of his human condition. He walked over to the kitchen, which was barely big enough to turn around in, and opened the first drawer he reached. Rows of silver cutlery greeted him, glinting in the light coming in from the window. Slowly, trembling with the effort, he passed his hand over the contents of the drawer concentrating solely on the desire for the objects to move, to respond to his whim as once they had. One knife trembled then lay still. With a shout of exasperation, Eric wrenched the drawer from its holdings. The sound of metal crashing taunted him. He could only hear it, he could not feel it. And it was all his fault.

* * *

Hank McCoy knocked lightly on Xavier's office door. If Storm was going to be found anywhere, it was usually here. Sure enough, her lilting accent bade him to enter. She was sitting on the professor's desk staring out of the window. Hank cleared his throat quietly and she slowly turned to face him.

"Hank," she smiled sadly, "How can I help you?" She caught sight of a small file of red liquid in his hand. "Is that blood?"

"Yes," replied Hank giving the file a quick shake, "Mystique's blood. I took it from her when she fell unconscious, the second time."

"The only time," reminded Storm.

"Quite. I have been running a series of tests on it, trying to determine the cause of her unexplained illness and I believe I have discovered something." Storm was frowning, her dark eyes interested.

"Go on," she said.

"Well, I may be wrong on this, but it seems as if her immune system is fighting against the agent responsible for the cure. Her whole body is trying to fight against the alien invasion." Storm's eyes narrowed.

"What does that mean for her?" Hank's expression grew grave.

"It means that her body is trying too hard, I fear that, even with help, Mystique is in great danger."

* * *

At the same time as Hank McCoy delivered his findings and suspicions to Storm, in a café in downtown San Francisco, a waitress was about to swat the hand of an overeager and presumptuous customer away from her legs when she was jolted by an intense stabbing pain that rendered her incapable of speech or coherent thought. Somehow she managed to stumble through the kitchen and reach the back alley where she was promptly, and very violently, sick.

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A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! What do you think of this new twist? 


	11. Touch

A/N: Thank you for all your thoughts on the last chapter!

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Chapter Eleven – Touch

Raven staggered to her feet as she heard running footsteps coming towards her. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and fixed her face so that the pain was locked away inside.

"Rebecca, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," said Raven. She could not trust herself to say too much when all she wanted to do was scream. Teri, her colleague, moved to take her gently by the arm but Raven pulled away. She was not ill enough for that.

"You're not fine," said Teri, "I think you should go home. I can cover for you. Do you want me to call a taxi?" Raven nodded. Teri might have been a human but she had her uses.

The taxi smelt of dogs and weed. The driver kept screeching to a halt, failing to notice the agony he was putting his passenger through. Raven kept quiet. She began to count in her head. When she reached one hundred she started over again. She was so focused on her counting that she failed to notice that the taxi had come to a halt.

"Hey, you alright, darlin'?" Raven's eyes snapped open.

"I'm fine."

She got out and looked around, barely registering the sound of the taxi pulling back onto the road behind her. The buildings were unfamiliar, even the scent in the air was different. Teri had presumed she was going home, but Raven had resisted all temptation and forced herself to tell the driver the name of a building on the other side of town. A piercing voice in her head was screeching Eric's name but she remembered the last time she had been weak and vulnerable too vividly. Eric had not taken care of her then. The pain was rising like a torturous crescendo but she would not let it win. Not this time. '_By the time I get home the pain will have gone_,' she told herself and she began the long walk back to her side of town.

* * *

She had not told him what time she would be back, so Eric waited watching the clock on the wall count the seconds. The evening set in, lights all around came on. The light from them alone kept the living room bright enough to see by but Eric got up and turned the main light on anyway. He did not want Mystique to come home to darkness, she had already done enough of that. As he waited, he thought. Only this morning he had been resigned to a worthless existence, perpetually drowning in memory and unhappiness, but since Mystique had found him he could feel a part of him he thought had died begin to stir. His life was not over. There was still purpose. There was still hope. All he needed to do was make her see that too.

The sound of a key turning in a lock gave Eric an unexpected rush of pleasure. He turned to greet the returning Mystique but the greeting died at the sight of her. Her face was pale, almost waxen in the yellow light. She stood tall but Eric noticed the way her hand shook as she placed her keys down. Eric was on his feet in an instant.

"My dear, whatever is the matter?" He moved to take her hands as he had so often done in the past but she pulled out of his reach, her face scowling.

"I'm fine," she said without looking at him. Eric watched her move past him. _She had not let him touch her_.

* * *

The pain had receded but it had not disappeared, Raven could still feel it twisting her insides, a gentle reminder of what waited for her. She wanted Eric to stop looking at her. She wanted him to stop thinking she was frail; he would not be taking advantage of her again.

"Mystique, I can see something's wrong. You never used to lie to me." Mystique's head snapped up and for the briefest of instants her eyes shone with the yellow light of fire.

"You think you know everything, don't you? Look at you. You're no one, you're nothing. I never used to lie? You never used to make me." And with that she whipped round, and disappeared into the bedroom leaving Eric reeling from her unexpected diatribe.

Two hours later and she was still awake. Her heart was still thudding, it had not stopped since she had snapped at Eric. There was a feeling of power mixed in with the guilt but she did not want it, she used to feel powerful by his side, she had never felt powerful without him. Part of her wanted to take her words back, erase them from his mind, but another part wanted to shout them louder, tattoo them into the air and watch them burn into him. Did he care? Was he sorry? _He hasn't said sorry_.

She slipped out of bed, her bare feet silent on the threadbare carpet. The door opened silently. She knew how to be stealthy, that was another thing they could not take from her. All the lights were off but the curtains were still open. By the light of the world outside, Mystique could see him lying on the sofa, eyes closed, asleep. Her heart flew from her chest and went to settle by his, pulling her body along behind. How could a man be so heartless and still possess a power great enough to make her forget? She made herself stop before she got too close, because if she got too close she knew she would not be able to pull away. He was the spider, she was the fly, and his web was made of promises, memories and lies. How often had she watched him sleep? How often had she been the one curled up beside him? When she exhaled, her chest squeezed tight. She took a silent step forward then knelt down. His hand was lying on the sofa cushion so close to her. She knew that hand so well. In her mind's eye, she saw the power a mere flick of that hand could have and then she remembered the tender way he used to touch her. Would it ever be like that again? Could she let it happen again?

Her own hand did not look the same. She wondered if it felt the same. Gently, very gently, she inched her hand closer to his. All she wanted was to touch him again, feel him again…love him again. Her fingertips brushed his skin as lightly as a breeze, or a kiss. He stirred, the gentle touch rippling through his unconsciousness to manifest itself in dreams. Mystique stood and disappeared back to the bedroom, silent as a shadow. When she closed her eyes, hoping for sleep, all she could see was him.

* * *

A/N: Poor Mystique. Not having an easy time of it, is she? 


	12. Guardian Angel

A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating but I was having trouble uploading again, hopefully the problems are all fixed now!

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Chapter Twelve – Guardian Angel

They lived together but their circles barely overlapped. Mystique found that she could not bear the silences that stretched out between them. Her thoughts in those moments drove her mad. And she was scared, scared that the next time the pain hit she would not be able to hide it from him. She could not afford a moment of weakness. Eric took to spending his days roaming the streets. Mystique liked to think that he found solitude in getting lost amongst the endless stream of human traffic, but she knew he was torturing himself, forcing himself to face the brutal reality of his life. She also thought that he wanted to give her own space. It had to be hard for him to rely on her the way he had to now, Mystique tried to make it easier in little ways. She let him do the cooking, she let him tidy the place, and she never ever handed him money, she simply left it lying around.

This strange half-existence had been going on for a fortnight and they still had not really talked about what had happened or what they were going to do. Mystique suspected that Eric had tried to bring the subject up once or twice but she always shied away. She knew she would have to face the past and the future eventually, but for now the present was enough of a burden. Work at the café was as mundane as ever, Teri still believed she was a friend, Mystique did not go out of the way to correct her, she was a useful ally when the pain took her by surprise. It happened twice more, once when she was serving coffee to someone, coffee that ended up on their lap; and another time when she was washing up sending dishes crashing to the floor. Teri believed she had seen a doctor, that she was taking medication and that it was simply taking a while to work. Teri was not very intelligent.

After a long, tiring shift Mystique was walking home when she heard footsteps behind her. She did not speed up or turn around; she kept walking abruptly turning right into an alley she knew had a dead end. She walked about halfway down it then turned ready to face whoever was stupid enough to follow her. He was a man from the café, a customer who always sat in the same corner, his eyes greedily following every waitress. Mystique never realised she had been a special favourite until he stepped closer and she saw the hunger. How flattering.

"Hello Rebecca." The man smirked. Mystique did not move. Encouraged by this, the man moved forwards.

"It'll be better if you don't struggle," he said moving closer still, "No one's gonna hear you anyway." A slow smile crept onto Mystique's face.

"No one needs to."

Mystique emerged from the alley two minutes later, neither her hair nor her clothes in the least bit ruffled. There had been no sound, only the click of a neck breaking and a life ending. It was when she saw car headlights up ahead that she realised it wasn't over. The car door opened and a man three times the width of her stepped out.

"Where's Billy?" Mystique did not answer. She would kill him too if he came any nearer.

"You gonna tell me where Billy is or am I gonna have to get nasty?" Mystique barely blinked.

"I prefer nasty."

"You gettin' smart with me, bitch?" The friend of Billy's reached behind him and pulled something out of the generous waist band of his jeans. Now he was holding a gun.

Both of them were distracted by the rustling of what sounded like giant wings. Billy's friend looked up. Mystique did not. She saw his eyes widen with fear before his gun arm raised. She sprinted forwards reaching him just as his finger was squeezing the trigger. One hard shot to the stomach and the bullet soared uselessly into the wall. She snapped his arm with a well aimed kick. His gun fell to the floor as he screamed. Mystique picked it up and fired two shots into his head. She turned to face the newcomer in silence. Standing twenty metres away, two enormous white wings stretching out either side of him, was Warren Worthington.

"Are…are you alright?" he asked, his eyes flicking between the dead man and her face. Mystique threw the gun aside.

"I didn't need you help," she said coldly.

"I can see that," said Angel. His innocent face was white with shock. Dead bodies were not part of his every day experience. Mystique stepped aside, deliberately revealing the true horror of the dead man behind her. Angel looked like he was about to be sick. Mystique took a savage kind of pleasure in his distress.

"What are you doing here?" Angel forced himself to look at her.

"I…I was visiting my father. I only fly at night." His wings twitched self-consciously. He looked as if he would rather they folded away out of sight. To Mystique, this was rubbing salt into a raw wound. Where was his pride?

"I've got a home to get to," she snapped rather harshly. Angel looked troubled.

"Aren't you going to…?" He indicated the body behind her.

"No."

* * *

Angel took one last look at the dead man before making his decision. If he reported the death, suspicion would only fall upon him. His father had suffered enough over the past few months without having his son arrested for murder.

"Mystique?" She did not turn round but her pace slowed. Angel was glad, he would not have followed her if she had made it clear she didn't want him to.

"May I…may I walk with you?" She looked at him sideways, then smiled very slightly and continued to walk. The streets were quiet but still Angel could not help checking from side to side anyway. He did not fail to notice Mystique's disapproval.

"Why are you so afraid?" she asked, "You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know," said Angel, his face growing red, "It's just…I've been hiding for a long time."

"Your father." It was not a question, Mystique sought no further information. Angel suspected she knew only too well what he had been through as a child. They walked a while in silence, the stars overhead their only witnesses.

"Why did you disappear…from the school?" Angel did not know whether she would answer.

"I got what I needed," was her stark reply, "I live here." She came to a halt before the steps of a large, dark building. Angel looked up at it. There were lights on in every floor. She was looking at him, her fierce stare boring into him. He could only meet it for a second at a time.

"You could come back, you know," he said hurriedly, "You'd be welcome."

"Xavier's school is for mutants," said Mystique coldly, "It is not a place for people like me." And with that she turned and walked away from him up the grey steps. If Angel had known then what Hank McCoy and Storm knew, he might have understood why Mystique suddenly stopped halfway up the stairs. He heard her struggle for breath and was already moving towards her as her body began to fall.

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A/N: I love Angel! (sorry, but I really do, isn't he the cutest!). Hope you guys liked the chapter!


	13. Turn for the Worse

A/N: Sorry I have not replied to any of the reviews for the last chapter. There have been some problems at home. I'll try and get back to you all this time.

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Chapter Thirteen – Turn for the Worse**

Angel caught her limp body and knew at once that she was unconscious. Whatever had hit her, hit her hard. Panicked, he spread his wings. He would fly her to the nearest hospital. He was about to take off with Mystique in his arms when she stirred, eyes flickering beneath the lids.

"Mystique?" Slowly, her eyes opened and she looked at him. There were no protective defences in place this time, no fierce barriers, when Angel looked into her eyes he saw two things: pain and fear.

"I'm going to take you to a hospital," he assured her.

"No!" Her voice was weak but her eyes had taken on a wild quality that Angel found almost more alarming than her physical weakness.

"But Mystique, they can help you…"

"I'd rather die," she whispered. Angel did not understand. She was in so much pain that she could not stand unaided but she was refusing medical help. She was human now, they would accept her, they would help her.

"Take me upstairs," she continued her voice fading, "Take me to him." Angel was not sure he had heard the last part correctly, but that was not important right now.

"Which number is it, Mystique?" he asked desperate to get the answer out of her before she was unable to give it.

"Seven," she said and then her whole body shuddered. Angel hurried up the remaining steps.

"Don't worry," he said, "You're going to be ok. Don't worry." He took the stairs as fast as he could only pausing to read the numbers on the doors he passed. Four…five…six…. At last, he reached number seven and by some miracle the door was open. Careful not to jostle Mystique too badly, Angel manoeuvred her inside and was just laying her down on the sofa when someone else stepped into the room.

* * *

To Eric's eyes, the scene was not a complementary one. He had heard the door open but, assuming nothing out of the ordinary had happened, had decided to give the sauce he was preparing one last stir before going to greet Mystique. He had arrived just in time to see a mutant bending over her unconscious form. He did not need to see any more.

"What have you done?" he demanded, fury making his voice and manner more impressive than he could have imagined. The mutant turned quickly, clearly having not expected company. Mystique, perhaps spurred by the sound of his voice, groaned. She reached out a hand, to fend off her attacker or to reach for help, Eric could not tell. He did not wait to find out.

"Step away from her," he ordered. The mutant did as he was told; it seemed he was used to being shouted at.

"She was taken ill," he said in a small voice, "I…I caught her as she fell. I don't know what's wrong, she wouldn't let me take her to hospital."

"Too right she wouldn't," said Eric whose own heart shuddered at the thought. He cast the mutant a suitably filthy look before bending down besides Mystique. The easy way the mutant had backed off suggested he was not an attacker at all and very much confirmed he was not a threat even to humans. Mystique was breathing in short shallow gasps, her muscles were all tensing, and pain was etched all over her face. Eric wanted to get her to look at him and tell him what was wrong only he did not want to force his touch upon her.

"Mystique? Mystique, my dear, you have to tell me what is wrong. You have to tell me so I can help you."

"Eric…" She breathed his name, injecting it with desperation and pain. She had not let her guard down this much since they had reunited.

"I'm here, my dear. Talk to me." But Mystique did not talk; she did something even more powerful. When Mystique grabbed his hand, Eric knew it was serious.

* * *

"Help me," Mystique whispered hating herself for her weakness. She had taken hold of Eric's hand in a desperate attempt to keep him with her. She would die of this pain if it continued, she was sure of it. Her skin felt like it was burning, blistering under the heat of something too hot, too close. Both Angel and Eric watched in horror as the left side of her face grew red and then seemed to erupt as if someone had pressed an iron to her skin.

"What's happening?" Angel asked, his voice high with fright. Mystique did not like to hear their fear. She wanted it to end. Why wouldn't it end? She felt Eric stand, and her hand fell limply from his. She felt her whole body fall with it through an endless void. Words flashed inside her head, black against the bright light of pain.

* * *

Angel knew who he was; he had made the connections in his mind within seconds of his appearance. He was in a room with Magneto, leader of the Brotherhood. To Angel, the loss of Magento's mutation had not diminished his power in the slightest. As Magneto stood and faced him Angel felt his hands begin to shake.

"What is your name, boy?" Angel resisted the temptation to look down at the floor. He felt like he was being interrogated, and he'd only been asked one question!

"Warren," he replied, "Warren Worthington." He knew the second he had said it that he had made a mistake. An unmistakeable flash of recognition travelled across Magneto's face and left him even colder than before. _So_, his eyes said, _it is your fault_. Angel accepted this and waited for the tirade to begin but there was a more pressing concern.

"Do you know Xavier's school?"

"Yes," said Angel, "I…I live there." Magneto looked mildly if not impressed then at least satisfied.

"You must take her there," he said referring to Mystique.

"Ok," Angel said, he presumed that Magneto knew what Mystique wanted, he at least knew better than he could. "W-What about you?"

"I can take care of myself, Mr Worthington."

And so Angel took Mystique in his arms once again. Her whole body was hot and yet she shivered at his touch. Her eyes struggled to open and her lips tried to form words but she lost both battles. Magneto was watching her with a strange expression on his face.

"Do not stop," he said, "Do not pause until you reach the school. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," said Angel. He understood perfectly. The strange expression on Magneto's face was a mask, a mask that hid pure terror.

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A/N: Please let me know what you think of this chapter, I love hearing from you all.


	14. At the School

A/N: Eeeee! Today is a special day. Know why? Pirates 2, that's why! Ok, I'm done. Here's the next chapter!

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Chapter Fourteen – At the School**

The majority of the occupants of Xavier's school were sleeping but there were a few notable exceptions. Wolverine had woken from a vivid, blood stained dream. He was now staring at his retracted claws and being plagued by the same questions he had asked himself a million times. Also awake was Storm who had been finding it hard to sleep since the Professor's death. She lay awake hoping to hear his voice telling her she was doing the right thing. When Charles had approached her about taking over the running of the school she had accepted, but she had not expected the takeover to occur so soon. She was not ready and she felt like she was failing the children. Along the corridor from her, two students were sharing a bed. Rogue was curled up on Bobby's bare chest delighting in the feel of his warm skin against hers. Not once had she regretted her decision to take the cure and break free of the body which did not allow her to touch others. Now she could shake hands, she could give and receive hugs, she could kiss her boyfriend and she could make love. She did not have to live in fear of hurting people any more. This was freedom.

"Bobby, are you awake?" Bobby gave a sleepy moan.

"I've been thinkin'," continued Rogue, "I can't stay here any more."

"What?" said Bobby, his voice thick with sleep.

"I'm not a mutant any more, Bobby. I don't belong here." Bobby began to sit up. Rogue sat up too making it easier for him. His eyes were still heavy but he rubbed them and they opened a little wider.

"What you talking about, Rogue? You want to leave?" Rogue hugged her knees.

"I don't know if it's what I want but…I'm not a mutant any more. I can go to a normal school." Bobby was looking at her in disbelief.

"But…," he tried to search for a reason she could not leave, "But you have to stay. You have to stay with me." Rogue looked into those eyes. She loved his eyes. They were always kind, always warm, always Bobby.

"I'll always be with you, Bobby," she said, "No matter what." Bobby brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, brushing her face ever so gently as he did so.

"I love you, Marie."

"I love you too, Bobby." They were both leaning in for the kiss when there was a muffled shout from the floor below. Rogue knew the voice at once.

"Logan."

* * *

Angel arrived at the school a little after two in the morning. Mystique had slipped deeper into unconsciousness as the journey continued. By the time the alarm was raised and Mystique was rushed into the medical wing she was completely motionless and not reacting to any stimulus at all. Exhausted after his long flight, Angel nearly collapsed on the stairs when Mystique was taken off him, and that was where Bobby and Rogue found him moments later.

"What's wrong?" Rogue asked. She was dressed only in a short, silken nightdress; ever since she had chosen to be "cured" she had taken full advantage of being able to uncover her now harmless skin.

"Mystique…" Angel said between panting breaths, "She collapsed…I brought her here…"

"Mystique?" Angel saw Bobby's hands turn blue. He had seen what Mystique could do.

"She's lost her power, Bobby," Rogue reminded him, "She's no danger now." Angel thought about what he had witnessed in the alleyway. He did not agree.

* * *

"What the hell's wrong with her?" asked Wolverine as Hank removed Mystique's shirt revealing more of the angry blistered patches on her stomach and shoulder. Hank did not answer, his attention firmly on his patient. He had only told Storm about his discovery in Mystique's blood sample and Storm had decided they should keep it quiet until they knew more. There was no telling what the implications of it were. If Mystique's immune system was rejecting the cure, what about everyone else who had been injected?

"Could you pass me that gauze?" Wolverine looked around, located it and obliged. Hank applied some white cream to one of the blistered areas then pressed down gently with the gauze, finally wrapping the area with a bandage to keep the gauze in place. He worked quickly and efficiently, his hands gently manoeuvring the limp form of Mystique expertly. Wolverine looked away when the image of the previous doctor became too strong. As he did so, he saw Storm in the doorway.

"I've been talking to Angel," she said her eyes directly on him.

"Yeah, what he say?"

"She was with Magneto." Hank only paused for the briefest of instants as the wave this caused swept the room.

"You think he did this to her?" Wolverine asked. Storm shook her head, and finally she tore her eyes away from him.

"You remember when she collapsed after I told her about Magneto?" she said walking further into the room. Wolverine nodded. He'd thought it strange at the time; Mystique had not seemed the type for hysterics.

"Well, Hank took a blood sample," Storm continued, "It turns out Mystique's immune system is rejecting the cure." Behind them, Hank prepped an injection of clear liquid.

"You mean she's turning back into a mutant?" Wolverine frowned, the implications of this slowly sinking in.

"We don't know," replied Storm, she was biting her bottom lip anxiously.

"Is this gonna happen to everyone who took the cure?" asked Wolverine. He was not thinking of those that considered themselves victims but rather of one girl who saw it as the answer she had been hoping for. Storm looked at him helplessly. There were never any answers.

"And you kept this a secret?" Wolverine demanded angrily needing a release, "Were you just going to wait and see what happened with Mystique before you made it public or did you have another test subject in mind?"

"Logan," said Hank sternly, "My findings were based on too much uncertainty to make them public. I'm sure you're aware of just how much panic such a discovery could cause." Wolverine could well imagine. Some mutants had looked on this cure as a blessing, now perhaps it would turn out to be nothing more than a passing dream. A thought struck him.

"Surely there would have been more cases," he said looking from Storm to Beast, "Mystique can't be the only one." Hank exchanged a glance with Storm before answering.

"She isn't," he said simply, "A fifteen year old boy died after taking the cure, no one knew why. His death was dismissed as an unfortunate accident, a one off allergic reaction."

"And yesterday a woman in Manhattan died of unexplainable causes after several weeks of illness. Turns out she took the cure too." It was clear that Storm saw these two cases as conclusive proof but two was not a very big number when you considered how many hundreds, possibly thousands, of mutants had lined up for the cure. If there was something going wrong, why wasn't it going wrong in all of them? Hank McCoy seemed to read Wolverine's mind.

"It's possible that the cure is only rejected by a small minority and that it is effective in all other cases," he said, "We simply don't know enough." He checked Mystique's pulse again and noted the reading down. "Of course, it would be a lot easier to investigate if we had the data from the drug trials but everything was destroyed."

"Tough break," said Wolverine dourly. Storm evidently decided that this was a good time to get rid of him.

"Rogue and Bobby heard the commotion. I think they need some reassurance, could you see to it?" Reassurance, sure. He was _great_ at that.

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A/N: Thanks for reviewing everyone! You madea nasty few days much better. 


	15. Again

A/N: More X-men goodness!

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Chapter Fifteen – Again

Mystique woke slowly rising up through layers of cold unconsciousness. The air felt cool and fresh, and the pain had gone. She lay finding relief in each breath, the beast inside was sleeping again. She tried to move but her limbs felt stiff and painful.

"Eric?" It was a small plea concealing an endless desire, yet she knew it would go unanswered. She still felt her hand slipping from his as he stood. She did not remember anything after that. She did not want to know where she was, she didn't want to know how she'd got there; she felt like she had fallen from a great height, her body smashing on merciless jagged rocks. No one had tried to catch her, Eric had left her again.

By the time the sun was climbing up in the sky, Mystique had buried any traces of vulnerability deep inside, hidden under layers of cool indifference. The coming of morning had revealed to her two important things: she was a guest of the X-men, and she had made a mistake not killing Eric before he'd had the chance to bewitch her again. By the time the door slid open, revealing Beast, Mystique was sitting up ready for company.

"Good to see you awake," said Hank pleasantly, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Mystique lied, eyes fixed unblinkingly on him. In reality, her skin felt unbearably tight and uncomfortable, the sore patches under the bandages were itching like crazy and the back of her head was thumping so hard she wanted nothing more than to be knocked out again.

"Am I permitted to examine you?" Hank asked approaching her slowly. Mystique knew it would be shooting herself in the foot to refuse. He had already looked her over thoroughly anyway, what use would refusing him be?

"Do you remember how you got here?" the blue mutant asked as he checked under her bandages and applied more cool cream. Mystique decided to apply what she knew.

"The mutant," she said, "Angel." Hank nodded.

"That's right," he said, "He says you opposed going to the hospital. Not hard to understand why, of course. It is a good thing he thought to bring you here." Mystique tasted bitter acceptance, her one line of hope cut. Angel had thought to bring her to safety. What had Eric done? Had he simply walked away? Had he spared her a thought? And to think, as he had bent down next to her, she had believed he cared…

"Mystique, are you quite sure you feel alright?" Hank asked, his expression concerned. Mystique gritted her teeth to hold everything in.

"I'm fine."

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Hank McCoy did not like the unnatural colour of Mystique's skin. She was holding a lot back, he could see that, the effort was making her voice clipped. He had been up almost all night analysing the new data he had collected. The shot of painkiller he had given her had kept her comfortable but it had also knocked her out, it would do if she was willing to stay long enough to give him a chance to develop a more permanent solution.

"What is wrong with me?" Mystique asked as he replaced the last of the bandages. Hank faced her. She listened to his explanation without the slightest flicker of emotion. Her face could have been carved in stone.

"Am I going to die?" she asked when he had finished. Even now, there was nothing but apathy on display.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Mystique. This is serious and, as I told you, there have been fatalities, but we have time. I have contacts in the medical profession, as well as limited experience myself, the chances of finding a cure are by no means small."

"A cure," said Mystique, expression steely, "Where have I heard that before?"

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Angel hesitated outside the medical wing. He had not been able to concentrate on anything but Mystique all day, and yet he was afraid of disturbing her. It had been Magneto who had told him to bring Mystique here, but what did she feel about it? He hoped she was not angry with him; there was only one way to find out.

In some ways, in the white light, Mystique looked even more ill than she had lying in his arms. She was sitting up in bed, the moment she saw him her gaze shifted from the wall but she did not speak and Angel could not read her body language at all.

"Hi," said Angel timidly.

"Did you tell them where to find Eric?" Angel blinked.

"Magneto?" Mystique nodded.

"No." He had been wrestling with his conscience over that very fact all night. He had neglected to mention where he had seen Magneto, and at the time he had convinced himself that it was merely an oversight on his part, but he knew better. He had not told the other X-men on purpose; because he was sure Mystique would not have wanted him to. Mystique awarded him a small smile as a thank you. Angel's wings began to tremble. He remained with her until Beast returned to check up on her again, in that time they did not speak a word.

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Storm was watching the news. More mutant arrests. She sighed. No wonder so many mutants were lying low once more. There had been such promise a few months ago, such optimism, but all the time clouds had been gathering on the horizon. Would there ever be a day when mutant and human lived together in peace? Her thoughts, somewhat inevitably, returned to the Professor. He had worked tirelessly with the belief that there would be a better day. He must have had doubts and fears, yet he remained a stable presence for the children of his school, the embodiment of the safety the school provided. No one could fill his place and yet Storm felt she had to push herself into his mould. The children needed a rock to lean on, and the burden had fallen upon her.

"Nice to see you outside," Hank said appearing from around a shrub. He paused before sitting beside her, silently asking her permission to disturb her.

"How is she?" Storm asked. Hank inhaled deeply.

"Her skin cells are beginning to break down," he said gravely, "I don't know how long we have." Storm did not think about it, she reached over and put her hand over Hank's.

"You're doing your best," she reminded him gently. But Hank wanted nothing less than perfection, he pushed himself to the limit. He was one of the best people Storm knew.

"I simply don't understand it," said Hank almost to himself, "They must have known it was dangerous, there must have been doubts." And suddenly, despite the warmth of the sun, both Storm and Hank felt very, very cold.

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A/N: Thank you for your reviews. You know how to make me smile! I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter.


	16. Something Worth Living For

A/N: Check it out, I've never delivered such speedy updates! ;-) Enjoy!

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Chapter Sixteen – Something Worth Living For**

Angel tried to bring Mystique out of her shell but she was shut up tight inside herself, locked away from his gentle tempting. Mystique barely responded to him but still he kept coming, trying to lift her spirits. She did not think anything could lift them. Hank McCoy might have attempted to give her a sugar coated version but she knew the truth. She was dying. And Eric had left her with strangers. _And she was dying_.

"Would you like to go for a walk in the grounds? It's a lovely day," said Angel, "I checked with Hank and he said it would be ok."

"I don't want to go for a walk." She did not want to do anything but stare at the wall until her eyes went blank. She would take no joy from the sun or from flowers or from the gentle touch of Angel's hand against her own.

"It might do you good," coaxed Angel hopefully. Mystique stared at him.

"I am dying, Warren. Fresh air will make no difference." That shut him up but he began to look so miserable that Mystique found herself standing up. She would take the walk after all, anything to be rid of the atmosphere. The skin on the soles of her feet had become blistered overnight; Mystique refused to let anyone see that she was in pain, but before she had even reached the door to leave the mansion her head was already screaming at her to turn back.

"It really is a beautiful day," said Angel, his enthusiasm enough for both of them. He hurried ahead to push open the front door and when the sunlight streamed in, Mystique was forced to admit he was right.

There were other people out walking too. Mystique could see the girl, Rogue, and her boyfriend, Bobby. When they saw her they changed course, giving her a wide berth. She was glad; the girl's hair reminded her of Eric. Mystique noticed that Angel deliberately led her away from the graves. Did he think she would be reminded of her own fragile mortality? Did he really think she had forgotten even for an instant? She allowed him to lead her, feeling more out of her own body with every step she took. She didn't want to die here. She didn't want to die with the enemy. _Eric_.

"Are you alright?" Angel asked for what had to be the seven millionth time. Mystique tried to say 'I'm fine' but the words got stuck in her throat. She wasn't fine. And it was Eric's fault. Always.

"I have to go." She pulled away from Angel, suddenly desperate to rid herself of his company. Now she was in the fresh air, she could not bear the thought of entering Xavier's school again. All those mutants, all those children with powers…

"You can't…you can't leave," said Angel, his blue eyes wide. But Mystique knew she could. She knew she had to. She began to walk, ignoring the pain. Even her heartbeat had begun to call his name. _Eric, Eric, Eric, Eric_.

"Mystique…please," cried Angel torn between following her and running back to the school to alert the others. Mystique did not slow down. She knew he would not go and get the others and risk losing her. Sure enough, the sound of him running to catch up reached her ears. She wondered dully why he didn't just fly. Another mutant ashamed of his powers.

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Angel wanted to find a way to make her turn around but he did not know what to say. If she knew the extent of her condition, and was still prepared to walk away from the only source of help they knew about, then what could he possibly do to change her mind? Fretting, Angel kept pace with Mystique as they walked out of the grounds and further and further away from the mansion. Angel was just about to start a desperate plea for Mystique to return when she stopped dead so fast he almost walked into her. Thinking she had been struck by pain, Angel rushed forwards to assist her but froze at the look on her face. She was staring into the distance, her expression such an intense mixture of misery and happiness that the effect upon her face was rather like a rainbow. Unable to guess at what could have produced such an effect, Angel followed her line of sight and saw that someone was walking towards them. He had only just identified the shadow as a man when Mystique made a noise that sounded like a sob and shot forwards before he could even think to stop her.

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Mystique didn't know how she could tell that it was him, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was. It was Eric, it was really him. He had not left her, not this time. This time it was her mistake. Her whole body shuddered under the pressure of the emotions within and then, before she could think about it, she found she was running towards him and she couldn't tell whether the tears in her eyes were caused by pain or sweet, sweet relief. And the best part, oh the best part, was that as she ran he stopped walking and opened his arms to her. Her heart flew out before her and reached him first so that by the time she felt his arms close around her they were already one once again. She held him and forced herself to believe that he was really here. Eric. _Her Eric_.

"I hate you," she whispered. Eric laughed very softly.

"I can see that." Oh, how much easier it would be if she really did hate him. How much kinder it would be than this love. The love that was killing her even now. She pulled away from him, she had to tell him but Eric spoke first.

"Did you really think I would leave you with the X-men? My dear, I hope you think more of me than that." Mystique stared at him.

"I used to," she said suddenly cold. Eric had the decency to look a little sorry but he didn't say it, he would never say it. She could convince herself that maybe he would have done if she had let him speak but the awful truth inside her could wait no longer.

"I'm dying." At first, there was no reaction, then realisation dawned.

"Dying?" Eric croaked, his usual calm shattered. In that moment of bittersweet sadness, Mystique could have believed that they were the only two people in the world. If only he would hold her again, if only he would pretend she was the way she used to be, just for a moment.

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Eric had not allowed himself to consider the fact that Mystique, his Mystique, might be dying. Even when she told him and he said the word back to her, he refused to let himself believe it. He had lost her once; he would not lose her again. Not now she was all he had. He was Magneto again when she looked at him. It was like a part of him had been brought back to life when she was near. No, he could not lose her again.

"It's the cure, Eric," she said softly and he saw it there in the way her hand shook as she laid it gently against his arm, "The cure is killing me." And that was when Eric saw him, watching them, his mere presence surely an omen. His ailing Mystique had an Angel watching over her, and Eric knew exactly how this Angel could bring salvation to them all.

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A/N: Thank you for reviewing to all of you who did! It's so lovely to hear from so many of you. 


	17. Drawing Blood

A/N: I thought you might like to know that this is Chapter 17 of 21. I know some people like to know how much more of the story there is going to be. Onwards...

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**Chapter Seventeen** – Drawing blood

Mystique saw the way Eric looked at Angel. She did not need to be told, she had seen that look a thousand times before. She had time to stop him. As Eric drew the unsuspecting Warren closer with sincere words of gratitude and kind words of praise, she could have called a halt and told Angel to fly away home but she didn't. She'd heard the doubt in Hank McCoy's voice when he spoke of an antidote; she'd seen the way everyone looked at her, that sickly pity that only the condemned receive. If there was a way to change the ending she had already begun to believe was written in stone, she would take it. As another fierce spasm hit her, all she wanted was to be through with this pain.

"Mystique?" Angel's concerned voice called out to her. He looked at Eric. "Shouldn't we help her?"

"Oh, I would not worry," said Eric silkily, "You'll be all the help we need." As fast as lightening, he drew a syringe from his pocket and planted the needle expertly in Warren's exposed neck. He gasped as the liquid inside drained into him, blue eyes suddenly afraid. Mystique saw his wings unfurl but it was too late. Before he could lift off from the ground, his knees gave way and he collapsed.

"And an Angel falls to Earth," said Eric as he tucked the empty syringe back into his pocket. He looked up at her with a satisfied smile. "I came prepared."

"So I see," said Mystique. She tried to keep her tone light and flippant but the pain was biting hard. She did not think it would be long before she joined Warren on the floor.

"Come, my dear," said Eric who had not failed to notice her fading, "I think it's time we went home." Mystique leant on him gratefully for support and barely noticed that he was leading her to a car. He set her down on the passenger seat, trying to get her as comfortable but Mystique was rapidly losing her grip on the world.

"Eric…" She reached for him, her fingers clutching at his arm.

"Yes?"

"Don't leave me."

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Getting the mutant into the car proved to be the easy part. The long drive back was punctuated by some scheduled stops when Mystique needed the world to stop spinning and one unscheduled stop when she screamed. The swerve that had caused had almost put an end to all of them right then and there. Finally, they reached their safe haven, the grotty apartment they now called home. Eric looked over and saw that Mystique was fully awake, if very pale.

"How are we going to get him up there?" she asked indicating the back seat where the unconscious Angel was lying. His huge wings were something of a problem.

"Good question," said Eric tapping the steering wheel absently. He looked at the mutant and then at Mystique. "There is a way we could make it easier." He waited.

"Will you do it?" Mystique asked, her gaze fixed straight ahead.

"Of course," Eric replied. She nodded, once, then opened the passenger door to let herself out of the car. She would wait for him upstairs.

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Warren dreamt he was a boy again, locked in the downstairs bathroom desperately cutting away with one of the kitchen knives with his father hammering on the door demanding to be let in. He could still see the broken feathers and the bright red blood. He could still feel the tearing pain as knife cut through skin and bone. He needed to wake up. Forcing himself through the foggy haze, Warren tried to rid himself of the pain and blood by waking up. Only, it wasn't a dream.

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Warren Worthington II had been lying low since the disaster. He was still chased through corridors by strange mutants in his nightmares but an Angel always saved him, the same Angel. When the phone rang, Warren reached for it without a thought of who might be calling.

"Hello, Warren Worthington speaking." There was a pause in which Warren could hear irregular breathing.

"Hello? Who's there?" he demanded.

"D-dad?" Suddenly his senses were all on high alert.

"Warren? Is that you? Are you alright?" His hand was clutching the phone so tightly he was afraid that somehow the plastic might shatter but he could not let go.

"D-dad, I'm…I'm in trouble." His son's voice was shaky, and very quiet. Warren pressed the phone to his ear as hard as he could bear as if somehow he would be able to pass down the line himself and reach his son.

"Whatever it is, I can help you," he said trying to keep as calm as he could while a series of horrifying images flashed through his terrified mind; car crashes, gun shot wounds, his Angel falling from a great height. "Tell me where I can find you, Warren. Tell me what's wrong."

"I've been kidnapped. They…they're making me say this." For a horrible second, Warren thought his heart had failed him. His son…kidnapped! His stomach lurched.

"What do they want, Warren? I'll give them anything." He was already adding up the total of his fortune. If they wanted it all, they could have it all. He had millions of dollars but he only had one son.

"That's exactly what we wanted to hear, Mr Worthington," said a very different voice to his son's.

"Who is this? What have you done to my son?"

"Oh, nothing more than you would have done to him, Mr Worthington," said the smooth voice with a touch of amusement, "If he had given you the chance, that is."

"Please, don't hurt him. I'll give you whatever you want. Just, please, don't hurt him."

"It sounds like we have the makings of a fine arrangement," said the kidnapper, "But I do not want your money, Mr Worthington. I want what's inside your head, the information only you contain." Confused, Warren tried to second guess the man at the other end but it was no use when all he could hear with every beat of his heart was his son's name.

"I'll do anything," repeated Warren his voice cracking, "Please…"

"Firstly, you call the police and I am afraid I will have to kill your son. I don't want to do that, Mr Worthington, enough blood has been spilled for our cause." Something stirred inside Warren's brain, a long buried recollection but before he could place it, the kidnapper continued. "Secondly, and this is most important, I want you to make a cure for your mutant X cure. Mr Worthington, I want you to make an antidote to your poison and I want you to do it quickly because if I don't get what I want within five days, you and I will both lose something precious to us. Do you understand what it is I want you to do?" Though numb, Warren managed to answer.

"Yes," he said weakly.

"I shall contact you again."

"Wait…my son!" But the line was dead.

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A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has read and/or reviewed so far!


	18. Crest of the Wave

A/N: New chapter before I disappear for the weekend! Enjoy!

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Chapter Eighteen – Crest of the Wave

Mystique lay down on the bed. The pain had settled back to a dull ache, a tiger ready to pounce the moment she let her guard down. She could hear Eric's voice in the next room. His plan was a good one, no doubt about that. They had nothing to lose, after all. It was a simply a matter of whether it would work fast enough to save her. Mystique stared up at the ceiling with her human eyes. She vividly remembered staring up at another ceiling and wishing for death to claim her. But Eric was here now. Eric was here. She was under no illusions. Eric had not kidnapped Angel for her benefit, he was not here to save her. When Warren Worthington III developed the antidote for his cure, Magneto would return as strong and as determined as ever. Maybe Mystique would return too, or maybe she wouldn't. Right now, she was too weak to resist.

When Mystique heard the door to the bedroom open, she turned her head.

"Eric?" He stood in the doorway, face hidden by shadow, one hand on the door knob.

"Help is coming, my dear," he said quietly.

"And Angel?" Mystique asked. She had not forgotten the gentle touch of the mutant they had kidnapped and though she had stood back while Eric removed his powerful wings, she did not want him to be killed. Once he had helped them achieve their goal, she wanted him to fly free again.

"He'll be alright," said Eric indifferently, "His wings will grow back, though his trust in you may not."

"I don't mind that," said Mystique as she suppressed a shudder. Eric approached her bed. She watched him knowing she was powerless. She knew she was not the only one to be reminded of a time she had been in the same position. Eric looked down at her but instead of the cold glare she remembered, she saw pain.

"Mystique…" Mystique continued to stare up at him, unable to move or speak. Time seemed to have slowed down; the world had stopped spinning just for them. Eric knelt down and reached towards her as if to touch her face but then drew back.

"A King is nothing without his Queen. I should have remembered that." 'Yes, Eric,' her eyes said, 'You should.' But she did not want to speak. There was only one thing her mouth wanted to do.

"Kiss me, Eric." He hesitated unsure whether she was serious. She reached over to him and took his hand in hers. She pulled him closer, her body ready to arch upwards to meet his.

"Kiss me," she whispered. And he did. Mystique lost herself inside his touch. Memories threatened to drown her but she clung to him. Maybe she would never forgive him, but tonight she could forget. Maybe he did not deserve it, but she loved him and she always would.

He was careful with her, handling her more tenderly than he ever had before yet so there was no pain only wave after wave of pleasure, the kind of pleasure Mystique was sure she would never experience again. If she was to die, she would die on the crest of this wave, safe in the arms of the man she loved.

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Afterwards she lay quite still, pale skin unfamiliar and yet she was his Mystique. Her eyes were closed, her mouth drawn into a tight line. Even with the angry red patches on her skin she was still beautiful. As he watched, she began to shudder. A tear slid down her face, shining like silver in the fading light. His Mystique never cried. Suddenly he didn't know what to do.

"Mystique?" Her eyes snapped open and he could have sworn that for an instant they glowed yellow.

"Don't look at me like that." Her voice wasn't as strong as he had expected, his Mystique was weakening and she was terrified of letting him see. He had loved her for her strength, and he had believed it gone along with her mutation but there it was still, burning like a candle in her eyes. He had loved her for so many things. He loved her still.

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Eric closed his arms around her and held her against his chest. She tried to hold everything inside, he had already seen her tears but she was reluctant to allow more to escape. She had never cried in front of him. She had never wanted to.

"It's alright," he whispered into her hair, "Let it out." At first she wished he hadn't said anything, the rush of sorrow was too much. She cried so hard that both of them shook with the force of it. She expected him to pull away but instead he held her tighter. Encouraged by this, Mystique poured out all the hurt inside her, and eventually cried herself to sleep. Even hours later, as the sun rose outside, Mystique was still folded inside Eric's arms protected from the cruel, cruel world.

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Unlike them, neither Angel or his father had experienced a comfortable night. Angel, bound and gagged as he was, lay shivering while his mind filling in the night's silence with horror whether he was asleep or awake. His father, on the other hand, had not slept a wink. As the sunlight was beginning to wake most of the city, Warren Worthington rubbed his tired eyes in a desperate bid to stop them from blurring. Notes were spread over every surface, evidence of his desperate attempt to conjure up a formula that would meet the demands of his son's kidnapper. When the phone rang he jumped about a foot in the air, his nerves already frayed to breaking point.

"Who is this?" he demanded trying to keep his voice steady, "Please, I'll…" But it was a wrong number. Warren replaced the receiver with a shaky hand. He could not take much more of this.

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Eric gave Angel a cursory check. Still breathing, that would do. He passed through into the bedroom with the tea. Mystique was still asleep, her face blissfully calm. Eric placed the tea down on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed watching her. It did not take long for a chill feeling of unease to creep up on him. Something was wrong.

"Mystique?" He touched her, her skin was cold.

"Mystique?" He shook her gently but there was no response. He shook her harder but her body was as unresisting as a doll's.

"Mystique, come on, wake up," he pleaded giving in to panic as the seconds stretched on and on, "Please wake up." But Mystique had slipped away to somewhere where pain and sadness did not exist.

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A/N: I think now would be a good time to hide under a big pile of sofa cushions...don't hurt me!


	19. Dark Clouds

A/N:I tried to reply to reviews and update yesterday but nothing was working for me so I'm sorry if I did not reply to your review. I enjoyed reading every single one, thank you so much!

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Chapter Nineteen – Dark Clouds

Dark clouds were jostling each other over Xavier's school. Rain was pouring down battering the windows, as Storm buried her head in her arms and cried. An exhausted Bobby had just come in to tell her that the search had drawn a blank. Mystique and Magneto had vanished, and they had taken Angel with them. There were no words to describe the depths of Storm's despair, but she needed no words, not while the storm raged outside keeping most of the students on edge with its terrible rumbles of thunder. Storm felt like she had failed everyone. She had believed Mystique's story about Magneto's betrayal, she had allowed Hank to try and help her, she had even fought off Wolverine who was still furious at her for letting Magneto know what was wrong with Mystique. And what had it all been for? She had allowed Angel to be kidnapped right under her nose. Charles would have seen straight through Magneto's plan, he would have understood the danger Warren was in and protected him from it but she had done nothing to help him. Lightening forked through the sky, burning a path through the thick, angry cloud. If anything happened to Angel, Storm knew she would never forgive herself.

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Above the room where Storm sat crying, Bobby and Rogue were lying on Bobby's bed. They had been out all night looking for any trace of Angel and had returned home defeated and exhausted. Neither of them could think of anything encouraging to say so they remained silent. Every time Rogue closed her eyes she saw Angel, blue eyes wide with pain, hand reaching out for help that was not coming. She reached for Bobby, seeking comfort in touch. His hand closed around hers. For three seconds it felt exactly as it should be, then Bobby stiffened. He threw Rogue's hand away from him, and sat up, chest heaving.

"Bobby? What's wrong?" Bobby stared at her horrified, his face pale.

"No…" Rogue looked down at her hands then back at Bobby. The whole mansion heard her scream.

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"I don't understand," said Wolverine, "Why have her powers come back?" A tired Hank McCoy rubbed his forehead. He didn't understand either, but it was no use telling Logan that. The man wanted answers, him and the rest of the world.

"It seems the cure is affecting mutants in different ways. For the majority, it has had the desired effect, that is to permanently suppress the mutant gene. There are a few, like Rogue, where the effects of the cure have worn off without any other symptoms. And then there are those whose bodies are rejecting the cure so completely that it is killing them. Compared to Mystique, Rogue could be seen as one of the lucky ones."

"Lucky!" Wolverine snarled, "Is that what you're going to tell her?" Behind him, the mutant in question was lying still after a dose of tranquiliser administered by Hank. She had not stopped screaming until she fell asleep. Wolverine did not call that lucky.

"I don't know what I'm going to tell her," said Hank wearily, "The shock…the disappointment…she's going to need all of us to help her." He gave Wolverine a pointed look. He turned away.

"Why couldn't they have got it right?" Wolverine asked bitterly. Hank did not answer. There was nothing to say. Wolverine gave Rogue one last look before heading back upstairs with a heavy heart. All over the city, mutants were turning back to what they had been before. Wolverine felt like he could hear their screams too, travelling on the fierce wind. He thought of how happy Rogue had been these past few months and wondered whether he would ever see her smile again. He thought of Mystique and a very different emotion seized him. He was not sorry that she was suffering. He only regretted he had not killed her when he'd had the chance. Storm was not the only one who had believed her story about Magneto's betrayal; he had been taken in too. Yet something deep inside told him she had not been lying, that look in her eyes when she had told him spoke volumes. Magneto had left her, his own cause more important than anyone, and still she returned to him, unable or unwilling to pull away from his circle of influence. Wolverine knew he should have killed Magneto too. He should have known that he would pull a trick like this mutant or not. And of all of them, it was Angel who least deserved to be their victim. Wolverine stared out into the eye of the storm. What other consequences would their mistakes make before the sun shined down on them again?

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Mystique did not feel Eric lift her from the bed. Nor did she feel anything when he laid her down naked in the empty bath. It was only when the water began to warm her cold blood that she began to regain consciousness. When she woke, she gave such a start that she slipped from Eric's supportive grasp and her head slipped right underneath the water. She panicked, grabbed hold of Eric's arm and pulled herself up before he could assist her. She rose gasping, vision blurred. Her grip on Eric slipped but he held her up, holding her securely so she would not fall again. As she coughed, ridding her lungs of the mouthful of water she had swallowed, he stroked her hair and waited for her to recover.

"Welcome back," he whispered, relief plain to hear. Mystique shivered and remembered why she had not fought the oncoming darkness. The pain was creeping back, needles snaking their way through her veins headed straight for her heart. Somewhere in the next room the phone began to ring. Eric tensed but did not make a move to leave her.

"Go," Mystique said quietly as she struggled to find a purchase that did not involved holding onto Eric.

"Will you be alright without me for a moment?" he asked, frowning. She wasn't sure, but she nodded. The phone was still ringing.

Seeing Eric walking out of the door almost reduced her to tears. Her own strength was gone, eaten away by alien molecules inside her. She lay back, wincing. If she slipped under the surface of the water now Eric would not return in time to save her, yet Mystique knew she could never let herself go like that. She had been close to leaving the world just then…and it was a frightening thought.

By the time Eric returned she had managed to get out of the bath and now had a towel wrapped around her wet body, her hair sticking up in different directions. She looked up at him expectantly.

"So?" she asked.

"He's almost there," said Eric but Mystique could tell he was lying. She smiled sadly.

"I want you to untie, Angel," she said. She had felt enough pain to want anyone else to suffer for her. Eric's eyes narrowed and if Mystique had been feeling better she would have laughed. What a time for jealousy to rear its ugly head. She walked out of the room without justifying herself, she knew Eric would do as she requested whether he understood it or not.

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A/N: For those who were admiring my decision to kill Mystique, I'm sorry! For those who were ready to pummel me, well, at least some people will be happy, right! I will try to reply to all reviews this time.


	20. Balanced on the Edge

A/N: Too hot...way too hot...Oh! There will be two chapters after this one, I changed my mind ;-)

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Chapter Twenty – Balanced on the Edge**

The look in Angel's eyes said it all. Eric was right, he would never trust her again, it would be a miracle if he trusted anyone at all. He had been released under the strict condition that if he so much as spoke out of place there would be trouble and so far, at least, he was being as good as gold, due more to the fact he was hurt perhaps than his natural obedient nature. Mystique, now wrapped in a loose fitting dressing gown, watched him watching her. Eric had left them to it, but Mystique knew he was listening from the kitchen.

"They'll grow back, won't they?" Mystique asked, her voice pinched. She was referring, of course, to his wings now reduced to bloody stumps. For the first time, she saw something close to anger cross Angel's mild face.

"I think so," he said tightly. He was in pain too, and he shot a look at the door through which he knew Eric was. When he looked back at Mystique, his expression had changed to one of sad disbelief.

"I didn't…I thought you were different," he said. Mystique curled up into a tighter ball, not because she was ashamed but because it was her instinct to curl up when in pain.

"I thought he betrayed you," Angel whispered indicating the closed kitchen door, "Why…?" Why? A simple question that had no simple answer. Looking at Angel now she saw the vision of her future that he would have chosen. A reversal of fortune followed by a reversal of allegiance. She could have joined the X-men, she could have helped to fight the good fight and help bridge the gap between mutant and human, her position as once mutant, now human giving her a unique insight into the struggle on both sides. Angel had chosen that path and he could not see why she would turn away from it. Despite all he had been through there were no dark shadows in his heart.

"Do you hate me?" she asked curiously. Angel did not even have to think about his answer.

"No," he replied softly. Mystique opened her mouth to speak but before she could she felt the coming of another spasm of pain. Angel noticed too.

"My father can help you," he said and he actually looked concerned for her, "He would have helped you without…if you'd just asked me."

"My dear boy, you really are criminally naïve." Eric had joined them. Angel shrank back from him, blue eyes bright with fear. Mystique struggled to her feet.

"Eric…I can't take much more," she whispered as he supported her.

"You won't have to," promised Eric, "Be strong a little while longer, my dear." He was helping her back to the bedroom when suddenly Mystique's eyes widened, her mouth opened in a silent scream and her back arched. Eric's arms were the only thing preventing her from collapsing in a writhing heap. The 'cure' was attacking her nervous system.

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It was Angel who suggested they get Mystique to his father instead of waiting. It was Angel who held Mystique down as best he could while Eric made the phone call. Suddenly the boy was not their victim but their friend; but Eric had no time to think about Angel's goodness, his mind was solely occupied with his dear Mystique. Her body was spasming every few seconds, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Much more of this and all their hard work, all Mystique's patient waiting, would be for nothing. Neither Angel nor he spoke as they loaded Mystique's unconscious, shuddering form into the car Eric had stolen for his journey to the school. They arrived at the laboratory Angel's father was using ten torturous minutes later and the extraordinary group they comprised entered to meet up with the one man able, if not willing, to help them.

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When Warren saw his son, he almost cried with relief. He hurried towards him, and was almost close enough to hug him when he noticed the reason for his son's paler than usual face. Memories of a blood stained bathroom long ago came to mind making Warren feel sick. What had these bastards done to his son?

"It's alright," Angel reassured him before he could speak, "I'll be alright. It's Mystique that needs your help now."

"But Warren…your wings…" He reached out a hand towards his son as if somehow his touch could make everything alright. Angel managed a small smile.

"I'll be alright," he repeated. Mystique, lying now in Eric's arms, gave a gut wrenching moan. Warren pulled his son behind him before rounding on the two kidnappers, raising himself to his full height.

"I'm calling the police," he said his voice cracking with emotion, "After what you've done…you're just lucky I'm a reasonable man."

"Mr Worthington, make no mistake," said Eric suddenly every bit as fierce as he had been with his power, "If you do not do all in your power to save this woman, I will kill you with my bare hands."

"Dad, please," said Angel pleadingly, "She's dying." Warren looked between his angelic son and the madman who had kidnapped him. He did not know why his son was so insistent that he help the people who had brutalised him but he knew that he could not refuse.

"Take her in there," Warren instructed gesturing towards the next room, "But I'm treating my son first."

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Eric stepped into a sterile white room; it reminded him forcibly of the plastic prison he had been incarcerated in. Without being able to sense the metal equipment all around him, it felt the same too. He laid Mystique down gently on the white bed in the centre of the room. She was still now but her eyes remained closed. As he took hold of her hand and it failed to close around his, he felt a powerful sting. This was it. They had reached the end of the line. If Worthington failed, then there were no more routes to try. The next few hours would decide whether his Mystique, his dear Mystique, lived or died. Eric stroked the back of her soft hand. She was not a mutant any more, but she was still the same person inside. She could never stop being Mystique. How could he have ranked her so low in his priorities? How could he have left her in her hour of need when time after time she had rescued him from his? It was only now, in that sterile room, with Worthington treating his son in the room next door, that remorse for his decision to leave Mystique all those months ago hit full force.

"Mystique, my dear Mystique, I'm sorry it took me so long to see you for what you are." He kissed the back of her hand, caressing the soft skin, still unblemished skin. "I won't leave you again. Just please, please don't leave me." He drew in a shuddery breath. "I made a mistake, Mystique. I'm sorry."

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A/N: I've been waiting to write that apology scene for ages, typically Magneto had to wait until Mystique was out cold! 


	21. Success or Failure

A/N: The penultimate chapter! Almost there...

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Chapter Twenty One – Success or Failure

Mystique would never know the extent of the battle to save her life. While she floated on black waves, Warren Worthington, Angel and Eric all played their parts to bring her back. It was not long before Warren Worthington, inspired by his son's complete lack of resentment or hostility towards his former captors, forgot that he was treating a criminal and threw himself into saving her with such vigour that neither Eric nor Angel could keep up. Of course, Warren had his own reasons for this. He was responsible for the development of the 'cure', without him the drugged woman on his table would not be suffering. Granted, the number of deaths directly attributed to the cure was still low having not entered double figures yet but, as far as Warren was concerned, one was too many. He had not created the cure to kill, he had not been aiming to create a weapon, and the thought that his Angel being one of the few to have such a reaction to the drug made Warren feel like he had just plummeted three floors. So far though he had been unable to reverse the damage the cure was doing inside Mystique and he knew from the reports filtering through from the other cases that time was rapidly running out.

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"So Angel's safe?" Storm asked.

"It appears so," replied Hank, "I believe he has suffered injuries of which he was less than specific but he sounded alright. You can rest easy, Storm." Storm sounded like she was trying to hold back tears when she next spoke.

"And Rogue? How is she?" _She's dead inside_. Rogue wanted to block out their voices but she dared not move for then they would know she was awake. She knew that if she was made to answer questions or explain how she was feeling she would simply open her mouth and scream, and she would never stop screaming until she drew her last breath. Life had been so wonderful yesterday, so full of light and promise. She loved Bobby and she could be with him in the way she wanted to be, whenever she wanted, whenever he wanted. It had been a revelation to live life without fear; the whole world had opened up to her inviting and tempting for the first time since her mutation had first been revealed. She felt like she had been dancing in a field of flowers before being dragged back down to live the rest of her life underground. How could she survive now that she knew what it was to be touched in the way Bobby had touched her? Knowing that he would never be able to touch her that way again; knowing that she would never be able to touch the people she loved.

"Rogue?" The soft voice startled her and she had opened her eyes before even thinking about it.

"Bobby." Thick, bitter shame ran down her throat and into her stomach. She was poison, she could not touch him, she could not love him.

"Oh Rogue, I've been so worried." He smiled in relief. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm sorry, Bobby. I…"

"Don't," said Bobby, "Please don't cry." But Rogue could not stop the tears. Things would never be that perfect again.

"I love you, Rogue," said Bobby reaching for her gloved hand and squeezing it, "I love you and nothing can change that."

"But I can't…" Rogue began.

"I know," said Bobby sadly, "But we never thought that would happen, did we? Maybe we'll get another chance like that, maybe we'll find a way to control your mutation. Maybe we won't. Whatever happens, Rogue, I'm going to be here holding your hand."

"Oh Bobby…," sobbed Rogue, "I love you."

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Eric waited. He felt like had been waiting an eternity already. The metal all around him taunted him with its silence as the news reader spoke of more mutants recovering the powers they had believed to be gone forever.

"It has been estimated that for 25 of mutants, the cure has proved to be ineffective. More seriously, for a further 2 the drug has proved to be fatal. Voices both human and mutant are demanding to know why the cure was allowed to be administered without more extensive testing. We now go to our mutant affairs correspondent in Washington…" Eric turned away. Even with the concern over Mystique, all the talk of returning power had not failed to reach him. How long would he have to wait before he knew whether he was a successful victim of the cure or one of the lucky ones? Nothing in the waiting room responded to him, not one metal item twitched. How long before he knew once and for all which world he belonged to?

A door opened and Angel appeared, his manner still understandably nervous.

"My father's ready to try again," he said, "Would you like to be with her?" Eric sighed. This was the fifth attempt Warren Worthington had made. His incompetence was costing Mystique precious time.

"Tell me if it works," he said before turning away from Angel. He could not bear to see another failure.

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Angel stood in the corner of the room, his role as an assistant no longer needed. His father was ready to give Mystique the injection. There were beads of sweat on his forehead as he bent close to her eerily still body. He had not said anything, but Angel knew this was their final chance. Warren Worthington would go on trying to find a cure but Mystique would not be there to benefit. Angel held his breath as the needle got close to Mystique's skin. The needle punctured and the silver liquid was pumped slowly into her body. The held air inside Angel's air was going stale and nothing was happening. His father turned away, under the pretence of looking at one of the monitors beside him, but really he was unable to face the prospect of defeat. Angel knew what his father was seeing when he looked at Mystique's motionless body. Warren Worthington was seeing his son dead by his hand.

At first, Angel thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Then he blinked. It was really happening. Mystique's creamy skin was changing. Mystique's skin was turning blue.

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Mystique opened her eyes. Something was different. She felt bruised and battered, but there was something beneath that, something deeper. Slowly, very slowly, she raised her hand to her eyes. She was almost afraid to look lest it wasn't true; perhaps this was all just a dream. Oh, but there it was, her hand! Her true hand. The hand of a mutant. The hand of the true Mystique. Flooded with an insane happiness that numbed every other feeling, Mystique sat up to examine the rest of her body. It was her, it was all her! Every inch of her was back. She was about to try a transformation when she caught sight of someone else in the room with her.

"Eric?" she said, smiling, "You too?" Eric had his back to her. She wanted him to turn round and see her, see the real Mystique, the person she had always been. But when he did turn round, she saw that he was not filled with the same happiness as she was.

"Eric, what's wrong?" she asked. Eric looked down at a syringe of silver liquid in his hand. Was that it? Was that the antidote? She could only think of one thing that would stop Eric from joining her elation.

"Oh no," she breathed, "Did it not work on you?" Eric raised his eyes to hers.

"I'm sure it would work, my dear," he said quite calmly, "But I shall not be taking it." And with that, he turned his hand and let the fragile syringe in his hand fall to the floor where it shattered, liquid spreading from it like silver blood.

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A/N: Imagine that, silver blood, weird! Anyway, thanks for reviewing the last chapter, I hope to hear your thoughts on this one.


	22. Atonement

A/N: The last chapter! I hope you enjoy it.

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Chapter Twenty Two – Atonement

Mystique gingerly slipped from the hard bed she had been treated on and slowly walked towards Eric, avoiding the fragments of broken glass with ease. Power surged through her veins. She flexed her fingers and felt the muscles move beneath strong, flexible skin. Almost without conscious effort her blue skin began to peel back to reveal pink skin once more. She remained in her human form for a mere ten seconds, marvelling at her renewed ability to be whoever she wanted to be, before she returned to the body she loved above all others, her own. Eric reached out a hand and gently stroked the raised navy scales on her cheek. How foolish humans were to desire smooth perfection when the greatest beauty shone through when your true self was allowed to be free.

"So beautiful," he sighed ruefully. Immediately, the pupil in the middle of those familiar green eyes contracted. She always had been able to sense his mood. It had nothing to do with her mutation, this was a power born of their connection, a connection he had broken with no more thought than he would give a spider's web but the cords that run from heart to heart are stronger than anything man has yet created. Mystique caught his hand in hers and held it against her face as her eyes scanned his face urgently.

"Eric," she breathed, "Are you saying goodbye?" Eric had no way of knowing whether Mystique could see the churning anguish in his heart which only multiplied at her words. Of course he was saying goodbye. He knew he should take his hand away from her warm skin but it felt so good to be close to her he could not bring himself to tear himself away a moment before he had to. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, so many things he wanted to try to explain but one look in her eyes and he knew that she knew what she needed to know and that she would guess the rest.

"Why?" she asked. Eric hated to see hear the pain in her voice. Had he not caused her enough pain already? A little more and it would all be over.

"My dear," he said gently endeavouring to keep a smile on his face, "What self-respecting mutant would want to spend her days with a washed up old man?" Still he kept smiling but there was no light in his eyes, and he knew it. Mystique began to frown.

"I don't understand," she whispered, "You have the answer right in front of you. Why would you…?" She stopped, her gaze falling to the broken syringe at her feet, the liquid antidote now lying contaminated and useless on the white floor.

"Is this about Charles?" she asked. Eric's heart gave a painful wrench. He still had not grieved for his old friend, Charles Xavier, the embodiment of all that he had failed to be.

"Yes," he replied.

"And it's about me." Mystique was beginning to understand now. She was still looking down at the floor, the blue of her skin reflected back in the broken glass making each piece shine like a precious stone.

"Yes," Eric said again. He tried to extract his hand from hers but she held on tight, she was not ready to let go. Her eyes rose to meet his and they captured him in their mesmerizing grip.

"Charles would have forgiven you," she said very quietly, "And so do I." Forgiveness. The taste of it was sweeter than Eric could ever have imagined, and it was all the sweeter for having been utterly unexpected. He could never have asked Mystique to forgive him, and yet she had done so, the gates to her heart open to him once more. All they had was a heartbeat away…and that made it harder, harder for Eric to pull away from his beloved Mystique and turn towards the path he knew he must take.

"Eric?" The word landed like a drop in a pond sending not ripples but waves through him. A tray full of surgical instruments behind him shuddered sending the contents crashing into each other.

"Everything I took from you has been returned," said Eric forcing his voice to remain firm.

"No…" Mystique said and she reached out for him again but he could not let her reach him. If she touched him again, he would lose himself to her. Her hand closed around thin air and then slowly fell back to her side. Her mouth hung open slightly, silent words still streaming from it, and then it closed deliberately. She would have to let him go.

"I was given a great power, a great gift," said Eric as he clenched and relaxed his hands, "And despite all the help and encouragement in the world, all I accomplished with it was destruction. I have no right to regain a power I so hastily misused." Mystique was staring at him like he was a different man. Eric smiled. He was a different man. He had let his anger and his grief turn his world into a place where there was only darkness, never light. He had seen what became of hatred and yet he had followed down the same road, burning those who opposed them, ignoring those who tried to stand in his way.

"You say you have forgiven me, my dear, and for that I cannot hope to thank you but there are mistakes I have made that demand my own forgiveness." He took a long look at Mystique, preserving her in his memory. "This is one journey I must make alone."

"You'll come back," Mystique said choosing not to phrase it as a question. It was easier that way. Eric said nothing. There was no way to tell when their paths might cross again; there could be no promises.

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She closed to space between them before he could stop her, and had pressed her lips to his before he could even begin to back away. It was a brief kiss, a fierce kiss, a kiss that held all the heartache and pain of a goodbye neither of them wanted to say. Mystique pulled away from him and, without looking back, she left the room. Every particle of her being screamed at her to turn back but she kept going, forcing herself forwards one step at a time. No one saw her change into a human form, and no one on the street outside guessed the mousy woman that joined them had been near death a few short hours before, nor did anyone have cause to suspect that underneath the blue cotton blouse she wore was a heart that was breaking a little more with every step she took. Yet Mystique felt more sure of herself than she had done in months. She could take control, she could live her life the way it was meant to be lived. It was true that thinking about living as Mystique without Magneto was like trying to imagine breathing without air but she would manage it somehow, she would take every day breath by breath if she had to. They both had evil to atone for and they both had to do it alone.

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A figure stood on the rooftop of San Francisco's highest building. From here he could see hundreds of miles in every direction. A glorious sunset was beginning reflecting shimmering orange light off the polished glass of every skyscraper window. He watched the colours deepen and change, their intensity sending shivers down his spine. He had missed his nights up here, watching the world from a place no one else could reach. Sometimes he brought his father up here and they would sit in silence just watching. The death toll for mutants killed by the cure stood at thirteen with no new cases recorded in the last month, thirteen was not as high as the worst estimates had been but it was high enough. Things were starting to get better again now though, slowly but surely. There was hope.

The sun had almost disappeared, only a thin line of gold remaining. Angel stood up, his wings loosened instinctively. They had grown back as magnificent as ever, each feather a white so pure that when the sun shone on it the effect was almost blinding. With one last look at the skyline, Angel began to run towards the edge of the building. His body plummeted into the abyss below, wings stretching out either side of him ready to lift him into the air. As he rose, soaring on the currents, he looked down at the streets below him. He saw a child point up at him and for once he did not wince or try to fly into the nearest shadow, for the first time Angel felt truly proud to be the one being pointed at. Things were getting better. There was always hope.

The End.

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A/N: I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this fic and reading everyone's comments, a big thank you to everyone who's been reading and to everyone who has reviewed. My next fic is going to be a sequel to my Pirates of the Caribbean fic 'The Bird Cage' if anyone is interested. I don't have any more X-men stories planned as of yet, but you never know. Thank you again, your words have made writing this fic so much more fun!


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